I am Lord Voldemort
by WritingYourSocksOff
Summary: The untold story of Tom Riddle, covering events as early as his childhood in the orphanage up until his eventual defeat by Harry Potter at the Battle of Hogwarts. Very detailed, and made to be as accurate as possible. Also covers the rise and fall of Gellert Grindelwald, an ongoing event while Tom was in school. Reviews welcome and encouraged!
1. The Riddle Boy

_Disclaimer & Notes from the Author_

 _Disclaimer:_

 _*I do not own Harry Potter or any of its original characters, the vast majority of which are contained (or will be contained) in this voluminous novel. Other characters I have created from my own imagination, but adhere to the same principles and rules of the Harry Potter universe and thus, aren't mine either. This merely my version of the untold story of Tom Riddle and his rise to Lord Voldemort.*_

 _Notes from the Author: The following novel is my interpretation of Tom Riddle's life, and may not be entirely accurate. However, extensive amounts of research have been conducted in order to ensure that the facts (at least those that are explicitly stated in the novels as well as the extended universe, like Pottermore) are accurate. Certain small liberties have been taken, but they are minor. This novel is, by all intents and purposes, intended to reflect Tom Riddle's early years as accurately as possible, covering events as early as his childhood prior to his initial meeting with Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, where he learns he is a wizard, to events as late as the Battle for Hogwarts and his eventual demise at the hands of Harry Potter. At the end of every chapter, there will be a small section titled "Notes from the Author", which will detail my thoughts going into the chapter, as well as any of the "small liberties" I mentioned earlier and the decision behind them. Additionally, I welcome any and all feedback, constructive or otherwise, on this book which is, after all, a labour of love. If you notice any inaccuracies, spelling mistakes, or even grammar you don't like, please feel free to point it out. Finally, if anything in this novel is off, I would like to know. By that I mean dates, people or anything you find wrong. As I said, I have done a lot of research, but the world J.K. Rowling has created is growing larger every day, despite the books being completed, so if there is anything at all, please let me know and I will work to correct the oversight. I want this to be as accurate as possible, and I have done my best to adopt J.K. Rowling's writing style so as to fit with the Harry Potter series as best as possible. Thank you for giving this little fanfiction a chance. It's long, I know, but a gem – I promise you._

– CHAPTER ONE –

 _The Riddle Boy_

There was something very odd about that Riddle boy _._ Everyone in the orphanage knew it – even some of the children could tell something was off about him – but none of the staff could ever agree on exactly what it was that unsettled them. One of the staff said that Tom Riddle was very intelligent for a ten-year old (too intelligent, to hear her tell it), and that he had a very unnerving habit of sneaking up on people when they were least expecting it. And yet others murmured that his eyes, pale grey and sharper than any young boy's eyes had a right to be, seemed to bore into you as though he were reading your very thoughts.

But what unsettled Mrs Cole was how the other children treated him. They were wary of him, often avoiding him entirely, as though they were scared of him. Mrs Cole had worked with children for a long time now and she had never seen children behave as they did around Tom Riddle. Normally, children would play with one another, and if not they would tease or bully those who didn't quite fit in, but the children did none of those things with Tom, and Mrs Cole rather got the impression that Tom liked it that way. Furthermore, Mrs Cole could never catch Tom teasing or bullying the other children, but she got the impression that he must have been. There was no other explanation for the way the rest of the boys and girls would act around him, averting their eyes whenever Mrs Cole asked about Tom.

Strange things seemed to happen around Tom, too. Just last week, Mrs Cole had been walking outside by the play area and heard Billy Stubbs – a rather plump, wheezy boy of an age with Tom – yelling at Tom about something. Tom had said nothing the entire time, and Mrs. Cole had approached the two to tell Billy to be quiet and find out what was going on. Though she didn't hear what had been said, when she'd walked over and asked what was going on, Tom said that it was nothing, they had just been talking about trading football cards, and Mrs Cole had suggested that they both accompany her inside. She'd been troubled, though, at the look of pure innocence on Tom's face as she left him in his room and the sincerity in which he told her that it had all been in good fun. She had been equally troubled by the look of stunned disbelief and almost terror on Billy's face as she walked him down the hallway and back to his room to feed his rabbit.

Well, not a day later Billy had come running into her office crying about how his rabbit was missing, and that it must've been Tom. They'd looked everywhere for him, but it couldn't be found. Eventually, they'd had to admit to Billy that it must've gotten away somewhere. Billy, however, maintained that the rabbit was dead, and that Tom had killed it. Mrs Cole had expressed her doubts about this to Billy, saying that his rabbit was quite old and that if it was dead at all, she was sure he had merely passed on naturally of old age. Yet somehow she had a suspicion that it had been Tom after all, particularly after the state she'd found the rabbit in.

She'd gone up to the attic to collect some old Christmas decorations for the holidays and she'd taken Billy along for a set of extra hands. Billy had pitched a fit, saying that he didn't want to go up there, because his rabbit was up there. When they'd arrived there, Mrs Cole found the door to the attic locked up tight, and when she said this to Billy, he shook his head, insisting that his rabbit was up there. Exasperated, Mrs Cole had unlocked the door at Billy's insistent urging with one of the many keys on her ring, and pulled on the drawstring that let down the stairs. Together, she and Billy had walked up and Billy pointed to the ceiling, where his rabbit was hanging from one of the rafters, a small length of rope tied round its neck, dead.

Well, Tom _said_ he didn't do it, but Mrs Cole, of course, couldn't be sure. She'd placated Billy and then handed him off to one of the staff and asked Tom about it. Tom merely said that he didn't do it, and that he had no idea how that rabbit had gotten up there. He'd said it was quite impossible because he had been reading his book at the time and said that Amy Benson, one of the younger girls, had seen him at it. When Mrs Cole went to speak with Amy, she had to practically rip the blankets from out in front of her face because she refused to come out. After a while, Amy, looking frightened all the while, had said that she had indeed seen Tom reading his book quietly in his room while she went to get a glass of water, and so it couldn't have been him.

Mrs Cole sighed, swiveling her chair around to face the open window, which was letting in a cool, summer breeze. The sky was overcast, and the crowded streets of London, visible through the window of her office, bustled around like bees in their nest, going about their business. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a ring of keys of all different sizes, selected one of the smaller, and slid it into the bottom drawer of her desk. After a moment's rummaging, she withdrew a bottle of gin and a small drinking glass and poured herself a drink.

 _Can't blame the boy, I suppose_ , thought Mrs Cole as she leaned back in her chair, thinking of Tom still. His story was the same as every other orphaned child in her keeping and yet somehow different. His mother had stumbled up the front steps of the orphanage one snowy New Year's Eve, pregnant and muttering under her breath about something or other. Mrs Cole had been relatively new to the orphanage then, and had helped the then-matron carry her into the building and into the sitting room.

It had become apparent quite quickly that the girl – not much older than Mrs Cole at the time – was in labour, so the matron had asked Mrs Cole to fetch some blankets and a bucket, and they'd delivered Tom together on the very same desk upon which Mrs Cole now sat. Mrs Cole could recall even now that the clock had struck midnight at the very moment the girl's screams of pain and effort had subsided, to be replaced by the joyous exclamation by the matron that it was a boy.

Thinking back on it now, Mrs Cole remembered the strange feeling that had swept over her that night as she saw the matron clutching a struggling Tom in her arms. He hadn't cried, not even once, and the matron handed the boy to his mother and she crooned over him for a few moments and told them that the boy was to be named Tom Marvolo Riddle. An odd sort of name, Mrs Cole had thought at the time, but the girl was very adamant about it, and so the two women had assured her that he would be named such. The girl seemed to have known that she was to die because she hadn't said another word after that and passed on not even an hour later.

Mrs Cole shook her head and drained her gin in one, pouring herself another. _Odd name, Marvolo_ , she thought again. That had been the girl's father's name, she had said. Tom, of course, was a little more respectable of a name, and it had been the boy's father's.

Well, they had done as she'd asked. The boy was named Tom Marvolo Riddle, and they had very well expected some Tom or some Riddle to come for him, but no such person ever came, and so it was that Tom stayed in the orphanage and grew up about as well as any boy in that situation could hope to. He ought to be about as normal as Billy Stubbs.

 _And yet…_

'Mrs Cole?' came a quiet voice from the doorway.

Mrs Cole turned to see Joan, one of the junior staff members, poking her head cautiously threw the doorway.

'Yes?' barked Mrs Cole, a little more harshly than she'd intended. Her thoughts of Tom seemed to have put her in a strangely foul mood. 'What is it?' she added, more kindly this time, carefully stowing away the gin bottle in her bottom drawer again.

'We're all ready for roll call,' said Joan, opening the door a bit wider at the renewed kindness in Mrs Cole's voice. 'It's just that Tom –'

'What about Tom?' interrupted Mrs Cole sharply.

Joan looked taken aback at the harshness in Mrs Cole's voice and said, 'There was an incident, ma'am. Jackson Davies came to tell me that Tom had, well, I'm not quite sure _what_ he did, but Jackson's in a right state, and –'

Mrs Cole frowned. Jackson Davies was one of the more levelheaded children here at the orphanage and wasn't prone to the sorts of complaints about Tom that the other children were. Jackson was fourteen turning fifteen besides, nearly four years older than Tom, who was eleven. Once again, Mrs Cole reflected on the oddness of the Riddle boy.

'What does Jackson say?'

Joan sighed and her expression shifted from one of slight stress to confusion. 'Only that Tom stole something of his. A book.'

Mrs Cole nodded once in a kind of jerky motion. This had happened before. Not with Jackson Davies, but the other children. Things had gone missing, and everyone seemed to point the finger at Tom, but they had looked through his room and found no hint of the missing items and had been forced to concede that the children must have lost their toys in other ways. Even now, Mrs Cole couldn't be absolutely sure that Tom had taken anything. The other children didn't like him very much, and she thought that maybe they were lying to get Tom in trouble.

'Thank you, Joan. I'll speak to him,' said Mrs Cole, straightening some papers in the corner of her desk. 'Can you go and make sure the rest of the children are ready? And make sure that Eric Whalley has his inhaler this time, won't you?'

Joan nodded and left the room. Mrs Cole could hear her speaking to a few of the children assembled just outside the door and decided now was as good a time as any. She stood up, straightening her blouse and adjusting the tight bun that kept her greying hair up, and left the office. She passed the five or so children assembled in the front hall, all ready to accompany Joan outside for some fresh air, and ascended the stone steps, turning at the second landing and stopping at the first door, which was open.

'Tom?' said Mrs Cole, knocking once on the doorframe.

The book which obscured Tom's face did not lower as he said, 'I'm not going. I'd much rather stay and wander London _alone_.'

Mrs Cole frowned. Twice now she'd gone round and done the roll call only to find that Tom was not in his room. Yet it seemed every time that the very moment she realized he was missing, he came around the corner, claiming to have merely been in the bathroom or downstairs in the small library they kept. She had a suspicion that he was sneaking out to roam the streets of London, but couldn't imagine what he could be doing – or prove that he was leaving the orphanage at all.

'Now Tom,' she said admonishingly, taking a seat in the straight-backed wooden chair sitting at his desk, 'you know you can't be off on your own. We've organized a nice trip to London today. Joan is going to take everyone to the market. You'll have fun.'

'No, I won't,' snapped Tom instantly, slamming the book shut and placing it carelessly on his bedside table. He sat up and turned to her with a defiant expression, which melted away almost instantly right before her eyes. She had never seen a child control their temper and emotions the way that Tom did, and it was just another thing about the boy that unsettled her. Mrs Cole looked into that charming face, which was strangely emotionless, his demeanor betraying nothing despite the quivering note of anger in his voice, and marveled again at how very _innocent_ he looked. Tom was dark-haired and fair, pale it was must be said, but not sickly-looking. He was undeniably a good-looking boy and would no doubt grow to be a handsome man. Mrs Cole didn't know what the boy's father had looked like, but she must have imagined he looked something like this. Suddenly, another memory from the night Tom was born came back to her. His mother, having just given birth, had said to Mrs Cole, "I hope he looks like his papa". Well, Mrs Cole was pretty sure the girl had gotten her wish, because he didn't look a thing like the dirty, bedraggled girl that arrived on the orphanage doorstep eleven years ago.

'Tom,' said Mrs Cole quietly. 'Joan came to my office a moment ago.'

He didn't say anything, just kept looking into her face with that same innocent look in his eye that she was beginning not to trust.

'Can you guess what she had to tell me?'

'No, Mrs Cole,' replied the boy instantly, his hands moving from the edge of the bed to become folded in his lap.

Sometimes when she had to deal with Tom, he would act the innocent – big eyes, a confused expression… It seemed so natural on him, he was such a good-looking boy, that you couldn't help but believe him. And yet other times, seemingly without reason, Tom would grow angry and defiant. This time, it seemed, he was determined to play the innocent. 'Jackson Davies seems to think that you've taken something of his,' Mrs Cole ploughed on. 'A book?' Her eyes drifted away from his face momentarily and to the book he had just placed on the bedside table.

Tom's expression didn't change, but Mrs Cole thought she saw a flash of something behind those eyes – anger, perhaps – but it was gone before she could be sure, replaced with wide-eyed sincerity. 'Oh, that,' said Tom, picking up the book again. 'Jackson said I could borrow it, but if he'd like it back…' He handed the book to her and she took it, flipping open the front cover. It was a copy of _Alice in Wonderland_. Mrs Cole had never read it herself, but she knew enough about it to know that it had all sorts of magic and strange creatures in it.

Mrs Cole cleared her throat. 'Did you finish it?' she asked him,

'Nearly,' said Tom.

'And what did you think? Would you like to go to Wonderland?'

There was a pause, then Tom said, 'No, Mrs Cole. Wonderland is magic, and magic doesn't exist.'

Mrs Cole got that feeling again. It was a cold, uneasy feeling like a chill that crept up her neck. She got it sometimes when she was talking to Tom. It made her uncomfortable.

'Yes, well,' said Mrs Cole, clearing her throat. 'I daresay you're right, Tom.'

'Was there something else you wanted to ask me about, Mrs. Cole?' asked the boy, looking right into her face.

She had to consciously refrain from frowning at how specific the question was. 'Mason seems to have lost his favourite yo-yo. You wouldn't know anything about that, Tom?'

'I don't have anything of his, Mrs Cole. I haven't seen him all morning. I've been in my room.' He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes drifting to the left where a large wardrobe lay tucked into a corner. Tom kept his clothes and things in there. 'Would you like to look for Mason's yo-yo like before? Like when Eric lost his toy soldier?'

This time Mrs Cole _did_ frown. The questions were far too pointed for her liking, and though he had asked them without a trace of accusation in his voice, Mrs Cole could sense it in the method of the questioning. _Would you like to look for Mason's yo-yo like before? Like when Eric lost his toy soldier, or Amy her doll, and you didn't find anything?_

Nor would she. Such was the way with Tom.

'No,' replied Mrs Cole, tucking the book under her arm and standing up. 'I am inclined to take you at your word, Tom. Now, run along downstairs. Joan will be waiting for you with the rest of the children. You're to go to London market.'

Tom didn't say anything or make a move to go and Mrs Cole was growing impatient.

'There won't be enough staff left behind to watch you, Tom. Besides, the London market is fun. I've given Joan enough money to buy everyone an ice cream.'

The boy nodded and stood up from the bed and walked towards the door. Mrs Cole had a sudden idea to give the book back to him and insist that he return it to Jackson, but thought better of it. The less interaction Tom had with the other children, the better for everyone, she thought. Once Tom left the room, she closed the door and placed _Alice in Wonderland_ on the side table again so that she could search more thoroughly. The bed was made, and there was nothing between the mattress and box spring, nor under the bed itself. The side table drawer was too small to hold anything other than a few odds and ends, which left only the wardrobe in the corner.

Mrs Cole threw open the door and at first saw nothing but a mismatched assortment of threadbare clothes hung on a rail. At the bottom were an extra pair of shoes Mrs Cole had given Tom a few months ago. Second-hand, of course, she was fairly sure they had once belonged to Jackson, but there was little else she could do. Tom was outgrowing his clothing and shoes more quickly than most. She still remembered the look on Tom's face when she mentioned who they had once belonged to, and wondered if it was because of that reason that they were tucked away on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe, clearly unused.

She was about to close the door and give up when she noticed a small cardboard box on the top shelf above the rail, slightly hidden behind a neatly folded pile of pants. It looked to her as though the box had been purposefully concealed behind the pile of pants, albeit somewhat hastily. Mrs Cole couldn't recall ever seeing the box the last time she'd gone through Tom's room, and she reached up a hand and took hold of the box by the edge.

It was strange, she thought as she pulled it down, but the box felt almost cold, as though it had been left outside in the wintertime, yet everything else in the wardrobe was of a normal temperature. Certain that she'd merely had a bit too much gin, Mrs Cole shook her head and peered into the box, expecting to find all of the children's missing things.

Only, the box was infuriatingly empty.

She stared at it for a moment and then placed it back where she had found it and closed the wardrobe door. She walked the length of the room, a rather short distance, and grabbed Jackson's copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ off the side table and left the room, closing the door behind her.

 _Well_ , she thought, looking down at the book in her hand. _At least I've got this._

She started down the hallway towards Jackson's room, and a final, troubling thought came to her.

 _Aye_ , she thought. _I've got this… But what else am I missing?  
_

 _Notes from the Author: This Chapter serves to introduce Tom through somebody else's eyes at the time. I was finding it difficult to properly relay that information from Tom's perspective, as he is so sure of himself, and I thought it would be refreshing to see just how creepy and scary Tom could be from someone else. Alice in Wonderland was growing in popularity in London around the 1930's, while this scene would have taken place the summer of 1937. The choice of book was meant to be an allude to Tom's magical abilities. Finally, just to ease some confusion, Tom is already eleven years old. Clever J.K. Rowling made Harry's birthday over the summer, so he could get his Hogwarts letter right as he turned eleven. Tom Riddle, however, was born New Years' Eve, which makes that impossible, as it's the middle of a school term. Therefore, I decided that he would be admitted to Hogwarts after turning eleven, not before, since it's explicitly stated that students must be eleven before attending. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Tom Riddle

– CHAPTER TWO –

 _Tom Riddle_

Tom Riddle lay abed as he often did, bored.

His trip to London yesterday hadn't done much to ease his boredom. Normally, he'd have easily been able to slip off on his own and explore the crowded streets and the places in London that Mrs Cole would never let him go, but Tom thought that she must have warned Joan to keep a special eye on him before they'd left, because she had hardly left Tom alone. He remembered Mrs Cole taking Joan aside just before they'd set out and he assumed that was when she'd given the stupid girl instructions to follow him around.

Tom sighed.

He'd read all of the books there were to read in the dismally small library here in the orphanage, and he couldn't sneak out to London today because that old bat Mrs Cole was on duty. Whenever one of the younger, stupider girls was scheduled to work, Tom could sneak out. They never checked in when they were supposed to, and if you knew the right times to come back like Tom did, you could leave all day and be back by five o'clock for the roll call before dinner and they'd never know you were gone.

Mrs Cole, though, she was different – annoyingly sharp, and even more annoyingly consistent about her duties. She was always hovering around the corridors and she _always_ seemed to be exactly where Tom didn't want to see her. She never missed roll call, which was supposed to be four times a day – once at nine o'clock in the morning, again at one o'clock, then at five o'clock before dinner, and again at nine o'clock in the evening, before bed.

She had just been in here for the morning roll call, which meant that Tom had about four hours of solitude before she came back to check on him. He knew it would be solitude because no one would even think of coming to see him unless they needed to, and that was just the way Tom liked it. None of the other children would bother with him anymore. Not since he'd hung Billy Stubbs' rabbit from the rafters.

Honestly, the stupid creature had stunk something awful, and Billy had pushed Tom the day before, actually _pushed_ him. What did he expect? Tom would have made him hurt in his own way, but there had been other children around and they told all sorts of nasty stories. So Tom had merely shrugged off the dirt and gone inside with Mrs Cole. The very next day he snatched the rabbit from its foul-smelling cage and hung it from the rafters in the attic as his revenge.

And even Mrs Cole, sharp, smart and wary Mrs Cole, didn't believe Tom had done it because the attic was always kept locked and she was the only one with the key. She had refused to believe that Tom could have taken the key off of her when she was working, and so the whole incident had been forgotten.

But he didn't need a key to open the attic door. He had merely walked up to the end of the hall and looked up at the entrance cut out into the ceiling. There was a small drawstring to pull the stairs down, but it wouldn't open unless you unlocked it first. Tom had merely _thought_ it ought to be unlocked, and it did it all by itself. He hadn't even had to pull the drawstring – the stairs had descended for him as easily as if he had pulled it himself. After that, it was an easy thing to tie the rope around the rabbit's neck. The rafters were high though, and Tom didn't have a ladder, so he had made the rabbit and the rope float up to the top and simply let go. That had been the hard part – he had never made anything float through the hair for so long before, but he managed it, just as he knew he would. The rabbit had struggled for a minute or two, writhing and squirming, and Tom had watched, waiting for the moment of death and for the thing's squeaking to cease. When it had, he'd descended the steps, closed it all up and locked it up again. It had been a very easy thing, though he couldn't quite explain how he had done it.

Billy Stubbs had cried for two weeks, searching every nook and cranny in the orphanage. He blamed Tom quite loudly until Tom snuck into his room in the middle of the night and told him what would happen if he kept telling Mrs Cole that he'd done it. Tom had even given him a little taste of the pain he had in mind, just to make sure Billy got the idea. He hadn't said a word the next morning, and after the two weeks Mrs Cole had gone up to the attic to fetch some old decorations for the holidays and found the rabbit all rotten and smelly.

That had been the sweetest part of the whole thing, Tom thought. Seeing the look of doubt and confusion on Mrs Cole's face when she came down to tell them all that they had found the rabbit hanging from the rafters. Tom knew that she could never believe that a child had done it, seeing how the door was always kept locked and the rafters so very high up…

He smiled at the memory and got up from the bed, walking very deliberately over to his desk. It was clear of clutter with the exception of a small blank pad of paper and a pencil. The mirror mounted on the wall reflected his own self and Tom glanced at it for just a moment. He was still wearing that triumphant smile at the thought of Mrs Cole's face all scrunched up in confusion, and his dark hair fell neatly together, though he'd not combed it. Taller then the other boys his age, and paler too, Tom often marveled at how very _different_ than the others he was. Even dressed in the dirty, smelly rags the orphanage provided, Tom could see that he was more attractive than the other children. He'd often been told that he was a good-looking boy and he'd found that worked to his advantage. Few believed such people capable of anything nasty, and Tom enjoyed feeling like he was better looking than the other children. He could get away with all sorts of things, and he recalled an ugly old woman in the streets of London the last time he'd been there and he knew he wanted to be nothing like her.

Truthfully, he was nothing like any of them. Billy Stubbs was a whiner, Amy Benson more so – she was almost always crying about something – even the older boy, Jackson, walked around the orphanage in fear and admiration of Tom. He could see it in their eyes. It was the same wary, fearful look that some of the younger girls who worked at the orphanage wore whenever they had to deal with him.

Abandoning the mirror, Tom walked over to his wardrobe in the corner where he kept all of the things he'd collected from the other children over the years. He hid it in a different place every few days because he knew that nosey Mrs Cole had a habit of searching his room whenever someone blamed him for something gone missing. Usually the brats only said it once, and then after Tom had spoken to them, they kept their silence. Now most of the children knew to just leave him be.

He reached up to grab the box from the top shelf – he didn't even have to use his tip toes – and removed the lid to peer inside it. Everything was still there; the mouth organ he'd taken from Dennis Bishop, Mason's yo-yo, a silver thimble from the maid and some other things, so that wretched woman must not have found it. The day before he'd left for London with the other children, he'd checked in on his box of treasures. He had a thought that Mrs Cole might search his room again, so he'd put them up here and _thought_ , much like the attic dor, that the box should be empty when Mrs Cole came in, that way she could never know for sure that he'd taken anything. In truth, the box was full, but Mrs Cole either hadn't found it, or hadn't _seen_ what was inside it. He grinned at his own cleverness and wondered whether or not his trick had worked.

He knew he was special. None of the other children could do the things that he could do, he was certain. In fact, _Tom_ wasn't even sure what he could do. He tried new things as often as he could. Extraordinary things, impossible things, right from his own imagination. He could move things with his mind, as he had Billy's rabbit, he could hurt people, make them cry out in pain. That one he used most of all, the confusion on people's faces as they wondered where the pain was coming from was sweet. He could even talk to snakes – he'd found that out on their last outing, where one of them had slithered up to him in the grass and began whispering to him, and he whispered back.

So, if he could do all of that, why couldn't he conceal objects from that woman's prying eyes? What were the limits to his abilities, if there were any?

Tom looked into the box again and touched Dennis' mouth organ softly, almost a caress. He remembered when he'd taken this – it was a sweet memory. But, he knew, it had a pair… It was part of a set, really…

And there it was at the bottom: Amy Bensen's doll, or rather a piece of it. Tom had torn it to shreds and kept the head as a keepsake. Amy had cried and cried until Tom had shut her up.

It had been an easy thing, Tom recalled, luring Dennis Bishop and Amy Bensen into that cave by the sea on one of their summer outings two years ago. He'd made it sound fun and exciting, _exploring_ , he'd told them. He hadn't even lied, truthfully. He _was_ exploring – exploring his abilities, and he'd learned all kinds of things in the darkness of that cave.

Amy had scarcely spoken a word since, and Dennis couldn't look at Tom without bursting into tears or running the opposite direction. When they'd returned, a frantic Mrs Cole had rushed over, wrapping a protective arm round Amy's shoulders, and demanded to know where they'd been. Amy was pale as a ghost and just as silent, while Dennis sported several cuts on his knees and arms from when Tom'd shoved him into the hard rock walls with his mind.

Mrs Cole had been suspicious, of course. Tom was no fool, but Amy kept her silence, and Dennis (at Tom's direction) merely said that they had gone exploring and he'd tripped climbing the rocks. Mrs Cole had nothing to go on, and they'd packed everyone up early and headed back to the orphanage. Neither Dennis nor Amy had ever spoken about what had happened, and so Tom was safe, as he knew he would be.

Tom sighed again, placing everything back in his box and the box of treasures back on the shelf, closing the wardrobe door. It was still early in the morning and he had an entire day left of monotony and boredom left to him. He supposed he ought to go outside. There were plenty of places to be alone outside, and what excited Tom even more was that there were plenty of snakes if you knew where to look.

He left his room and walked along the hallway and descended the stone steps, ignoring the other children playing silly clapping games and went outside, walking along the edge of the wall into the backyard. The whole place was fenced, like a prison, but there was a small creek at the back where the snakes liked to hide out. It wasn't very deep – it hardly came up to Tom's ankles when he took his shoes off and waded in – but there were plenty of frogs and small creatures for the snakes to feed on.

Tom could often find them here, slithering through the grass or wading through the water, and there was a tree along the creek that Tom climbed sometimes, and he could sometimes find them in there. Of late, Tom had noticed that there were more snakes than before, but he knew that was because of him. They had told him so.

He'd first discovered that he could talk to snakes on the last summer outing, the one after he'd taken Amy and Dennis to the caves. He knew he'd never be able to get away with anything like that again – Mrs Cole hardly took her eyes off of him – so he usually just sat off the shore, away from the sand and picked at the blades of grass. He hated getting wet and he hated the other children, so it was usually a pretty boring day. That time, however, he'd seen a snake sneaking through the grass and he'd picked it up, and it had hissed. Only, it hadn't _just_ hissed, it had spoken.

Back then, Tom could hear a little bit of both; the hissing that was all ordinary people could hear, and then the highs and lows of those hisses that formed words in Tom's mind – words that he could understand. He had already been experimenting with some of his powers, and this one had been his favourite. He talked with the snake the whole day and by the end of it, he'd discovered that not only could he speak with it, he could control it. He'd told it to do all kinds of things, like sneak up on Amy Bensen and scare her for a laugh, and it had obeyed without question.

He liked snakes, and of late they seemed to like him.

Tom sat down now with his legs crossed at the edge of the creek and waited. It didn't take long. After only a few moments, Tom heard the familiar sound of grass parting to his left, and knew someone was coming to greet him. It was just a small thing, common garter snakes were often afraid of humans and avoided them altogether, but it slithered up Tom's arm when he offered it, and he whispered to it, and it whispered back.

It was strange, thought Tom. He knew no one else could do this, but he didn't understand it either. He had been told by some of the snakes that he was speaking "snake language", but couldn't recall how he had learned it. It just seemed natural to him. When he spoke it, he could hear the strange, harsh and unnatural sounds that left his mouth, most unlike his normal speech. Likewise, when the snakes whispered back, Tom could understand them as though he were speaking to Mrs Cole or one of the other nasty children.

'Greetingsssss, man-friend,' said the snake from his palm. Snakes often hissed their words, Tom had noticed, drawing out the letters "s" and "c" often. 'Many have heard tales of the man-boy who sssspeakssss the tongue of sssserpents. Many have come to thissss placccce to sssssee.' And just as the snake said it, Tom heard more slithering approaching. He glanced up and saw all kinds of snakes sneaking through the grass, perhaps twenty in all. Some were big and some were small, some dark and sleek, their scales shining, and yet others were lighter and less lustrous, but no less beautiful. They came out of the grass or out of the water of the creek to slither at his legs or across his lap. Tom wasn't the least bit afraid.

'Is that normal?' he asked the snake in his palm. 'Can other people… talk to you?' asked Tom, looking down at the small garter snake, had crept up his arm and was sitting atop his shoulder now.

The snake brought his head up from his shoulder and shook it from side to side, and Tom took that to mean no.

No then. No one else could talk to snakes. In that, and in so many other ways, Tom Riddle was alone. Special.

'There are legendsssss,' hissed one of the snakes across his lap, a larger black one, perhaps three feet long. 'Of powerful men who ssssspeak to usssss. Many have come from far away, like myssssself, to ssssseeeeeee sssssuch a man, sssssuchhhh a boy….'

'There _are_ others, then?' asked Tom fervently. 'Tell me!'

Several of the snakes backed up in response with a low, angry hiss. Tom didn't jump, but his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the larger one in his lap who hadn't moved. The snake seemed to tense in his lap, coiled as though ready to spring.

'Tell me!' commanded Tom again, putting behind the command the same kind of power into his voice that he'd used to bend the snake along the sea to his will.

And then, after a long, tense moment, the serpent relaxed and smoothed itself out in Tom's lap again as before. It slithered around his waist and chest to bring its head up in front of Tom's face. Though snakes lacked the same emotions as humans, Tom had found that he could nonetheless sense them in snakes. This one was angry, but cowed. It would not hurt him.

'There have been othersssss,' hissed the snake, sounding as though he'd rather not be giving up the information. "Otherssss in the passst. We ssserpentsss know… Now, there issss only you…'

'Only me…,' murmured Tom to himself. That pleased him. It was just more evidence to the fact that he was beyond ordinary. They sat like that in silence, snake and boy, for a long time until something interrupted Tom's thoughts.

'W-What are you doing?' came a voice behind him.

Tom turned just as the large snake slithered off his chest and disappeared into the grass. It was Dennis Bishop, with Billy Stubbs, and Jackson Davies with little Amy Bensen trailing behind them. When she saw Tom she went white as a sheet and bowed her head, averting his eyes. Dennis had a football in his hand and the four of them looked to have come outside to play. All four looked positively terrified, and Tom was certain they'd seen the snake.

He stood up, the last few straggling snakes slid down his legs and into the grass. He was angry that they'd seen him talking to them, he ought to have been more careful. He felt his hands curl into fists at his side.

'Were you talking to that snake?' asked Jackson, the oldest and boldest of the four. He always put on a stubborn expression and a superior tone crept into his voice whenever he spoke with Tom. He was less frightened of Tom than the others were, but still wary enough not to approach him. The four stood six feet from him, with Amy cowering behind.

'No,' replied Tom coldly.

'Sure looked like it,' said Jackson, taking a step forward. 'What kind of a freak talks to snakes?'

Tom didn't answer, but his anger was growing inside of him, he could feel it. Amy's face was buried in her hands and even from here Tom could hear her whimpering, telling the boys not to make Tom angry. A small rock flew up from the ground close to Dennis' feet and hit him in the forehead. All three boys (Amy still had her face buried in her hands) looked around to see who had thrown it, but there was no one to see.

Fear and confusion flashed across Dennis' face, and he looked like he was on the verge of running away, but Jackson shook his head and held him back. 'The wind,' he said stupidly. 'Must've been the wind.'

'It wasn't the wind!' screamed Amy from behind her hands. Her voice was shaking and she seemed on the verge of tears. 'It wasn't the wind! It was him! I told you, I told you! Don't make him angry, I told you –'

'Don't be stupid,' said Jackson, rounding on her. 'He's a liar and a freak, but he can't throw rocks like that. And stop crying. We're hear to play ball, aren't we?' He turned to Tom, sneering. 'And you're not going to stop us, are you? Go back inside and read your stupid books, and leave the rest of us alone, freak.'

Tom's anger flared. He hated being called a freak, because it was the furthest thing from the truth. Tom was no freak – he was special, far more so than this stupid boy. And Tom would prove it to him right now.

The snakes hadn't left him. He knew they still waited in the grass, he could sense them, and it was to them he leaned down and whispered in the soft guttural hissing language that was familiar to them both, 'Get them.'

For a moment, Jackson looked as though he didn't understand, then he merely glared at Tom from across the yard. No doubt he had heard the sounds that had left Tom's mouth. There was a long and stunned silence, where nothing happened but Tom glared at Jackson, and Jackson stared defiantly back. Tom could still see the uncertainty and fear in his face, the tension in his muscles as he waited for something to happen.

And then Amy screamed.

One of the snakes was hissing at her feet, and she ran screaming back towards the orphanage. All three of the boys followed as the swarm of serpents reached them as well, hissing and biting at their ankles.

Tom laughed as they ran, watching as the football Dennis had dropped in his haste bounced once on the grass. He laughed until they disappeared around the corner, and then he looked up, and his laughter died on his face only to be replaced with cold anger and defiance.

Mrs Cole was looking horror-struck out of a second floor window. She had seen everything.

 _Notes from the Author: This Chapter was especially fun to write. It's our first introduction to Tom Riddle, and boy, isn't he a creepy little guy? (At least, I hope you thought so). Originally, I had Dumbledore visit him in this scene, but it didn't feel right. I wanted you guys to get a better understanding of the young Tom Riddle before introducing Dumbledore, so we might better understand his emotions and motivations in the next Chapter. Many of the snakes that visited Tom came from far away places to hear about and see the boy who could talk to snakes. I feel it's necessary to say it (even though I implied it in the snakes' speech), just because it's not very likely a three foot snake is just hanging 'round London, but you never know. Thanks for reading this far!_


	3. An Unexpected Visitor

– CHAPTER THREE –

 _An Unexpected Visitor_

Tom hadn't been allowed outside since the incident.

Living at the orphanage was bad enough, but being cooped up inside was worse. He'd done everything there was to do in the orphanage by now. He'd read every book and explored every inch of the place. All that was left to him was tormenting some of the other children, but even that he could scarcely do since he'd loosed all those snakes on Jackson and the rest.

Mrs Cole hadn't seen the snakes, he was sure of that. From that high, it would have been impossible to see, but she had seen the four of them all running and screaming and heard their accounts of what had happened, and it had been enough for her. She didn't believe that Tom had set the snakes on them, after all that was impossible, but the incident had been unsettling, she had said. Tom wouldn't risk anything else right now.

And so it was that Tom was in his room – where he could almost never be found – when Mrs Cole came by with a visitor. Tom was admiring his trophies again when he'd heard her coming down the hall.

'Here we are,' came Mrs Cole's voice from the hallway. She sounded as though she was talking to someone, and Tom could hear two sets of footsteps on the landing. He snapped the lid shut on his box of treasures and hastily placed it back in its place and shut the wardrobe door. Mrs Cole knocked twice and opened the door.

Tom had moved more swiftly than Mrs Cole would've been able to track with her eyes, dashing across the length of the room, snatching up an old book he'd read three times before from the side table and lying down atop his greying blankets leisurely. He was pretending to read when the door opened and Mrs Cole said, 'Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore.' Tom lowered the book to get a look at the man with the odd name. He was tall, with a very long auburn beard that came nearly to his belt. His hair was long too, and kind of mixed in with his beard. Underneath it all, Tom saw him in a plum velvet suit. Tom was too busy taking in the stranger's odd appearance to her what else Mrs Cole was saying, but she left them alone together and closed the door.

Tom narrowed his eyes at the stranger's appearance. He was rather odd looking, though he seemed very proper and well put together. Tom had never seen anyone like him before. Nor had he never had a visitor before, so this was most unusual, and Tom was suspicious right from the off.

'How do you do, Tom?' said the man striding forwards with his hand outstretched.

Tom hesitated only a moment before shaking the man's hand. It would have been rude not to and before Tom could confirm his suspicions, he would need to hear him out. It was best not to offend him early on, Tom decided. The man took a seat in the rickety old chair opposite him and said, 'I am Professor Dumbledore.'

Instantly, Tom was on the alert. "Professor" was what they called the doctors who evaluated people. He'd heard tell of them working on people after the war. They dealt with mental people. '"Professor"?' he said warily. 'Is that like "doctor"?" But before the man could answer, Tom ploughed on. 'What are you here for?' he demanded. 'Did _she_ get you in to have a look at me?' He pointed through the door to indicate the old bat who had just left.

'No, no,' said the man called Dumbledore, smiling. It was the smile that Tom mistrusted and the smile that made him angry.

'I don't believe you. She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!'

Tom glared at him, wide-eyed and powerful as he often did with the other children to scare them into doing what he wanted. Dumbledore, however, wasn't so easily cowed, Tom noted. He merely smiled pleasantly and looked Tom straight in the eye until Tom's curiousity got the better of him and he relaxed his expression, though he was still very wary.

'Who are you?' he demanded.

'I have told you,' replied Dumbledore. 'My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts.'

Hogwarts? thought Riddle. That didn't sound like the name of a school at all – it sounded made up.

'I have come to offer you a place at my school,' continued Dumbledore. 'Your new school, if you would like to come.'

Tom leapt up from the bed and backed up from Dumbledore until his back hit the windowed wall beside his bed. 'You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it?' When Dumbledore didn't deny it, Tom knew he'd gotten it right. '"Professor", yes of course – well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Bensen or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!'

Tom had made certain that they wouldn't speak of what had happened in that cave. He'd told them what would happen if they did. Amy had been so frightened she'd refused to even speak at all.

'I am not from the asylum,' said Dumbledore. He was a very patient old man, thought Tom, very much like Mrs Cole could be sometimes. Tom didn't like it. 'I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you –'

'I'd like to see them try,' sneered Tom. He'd hurt them like he had the others.

'Hogwarts is a school for people with special abilities –'

'I'm not mad!'

'I know that you are not mad,' replied Dumbledore quietly, as patient as ever. 'Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.'

Tom froze for a moment, forgetting that he was supposed to hate this man. What had he said? Magic? Was that what Tom was? Some kind of… magical person? Like in _Alice in Wonderland_? He glanced up at Dumbledore, who was peering at him beneath half-moon spectacles, trying to decide if he was lying. Tom had a knack for knowing when people we lying to him.

'Magic?' whispered Tom.

'That's right.'

'It's… it's magic, what I can do?' said Tom, unsure.

'What is it that you can do?' asked Dumbledore, shifting his position on the chair and leaning forward as though interested.

'All sorts,' said Tom excitedly. Dumbledore could not have asked a better question. Tom had kept these abilities to himself all these years. He'd known that he was special and important, more so than the rest of the orphans here, but he had never known why or been able to speak to someone who knew or understood. 'I can make things move without touching them,' breathed Tom. 'I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.'

Tom could scarcely believe this was happening, he made to walk forwards and sit down on the bed, but his legs were shaking so badly that he half-stumbled. Once he regained himself, he sat down on the bed with his head in his hands. Everything he had ever believed about himself was coming true.

'I knew I was different,' he murmured into his hands. 'I knew I was special. Always, I knew there something.'

'Well, you were quite right,' said Dumbledore. His voice had changed slightly, Tom noticed, and he looked up from his fingers into Dumbledore's face. He was no longer smiling, and Tom thought he saw a twinge of interest in the bright blue eyes resting behind those spectacles. Tom wondered if he'd said something wrong, revealed too much. There was a pause.

'You are a wizard,' said Dumbledore in the same neutral tone.

'Are you a wizard too?' asked Tom instantly.

'Yes, I am.'

'Prove it,' demanded Tom. He needed to see it, needed to know for certain. That he was special, Tom had no doubt, Dumbledore had said as much, but whether this crusty old man was as special as Tom, he had to know.

Dumbledore, however, did not jump to proving that he was a wizard, and instead raised his eyebrows. 'If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts –'

'Of course I am!' exclaimed Tom. He could hardly stay here surrounded by ordinary people and the nasty Mrs Cole. Particularly not after what had happened recently. If, as Dumbledore said, he was a wizard, Tom belonged with other wizards like him.

'Then you will address me as "Professor" or "sir".'

Tom heard the small twinge of accusation in the Professor's voice and before he could stop himself he glared, but adjusted his expression hastily. He could tell that Dumbledore was a shrewd man, much like Mrs Cole. He would need to be careful. And he very much wanted to see what Dumbledore could do, so he said in a very polite voice that he reserved for the horrible matron alone, 'I'm sorry, sir. I meant – please, Professor, could you show me –?'

Dumbledore didn't say anything, but instead reached inside his jacket and withdrew a long stick. Before Tom could even ask what it was, Dumbledore waved it very casually, and Tom jumped out of his seat on the bed as his wardrobe – with all of his treasures in it – burst into flames before his eyes. Tom bellowed and raged a moment, then rounded on Dumbledore. He had ruined everything – all of his memories of sweet pleasure and torment were now charred to ashes. He wanted to hurt the old man as he had hurt dozens of others before, but just as he turned on Dumbledore the flames disappeared, and the wardrobe stood exactly as it had just a moment ago, completely undamaged.

Tom stared at the wardrobe then turned and looked at the stick in Dumbledore's hands. It was long, perhaps ten inches or more, and straight. Tom had never wanted anything more in his life.

'Where can I get one of them?' he asked reverently, his eyes following the stick as Dumbledore laid it across his lap.

'All in good time,' replied the old man. 'I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe.'

Tom turned instantly and then after a moment's listening, he heard a faint rattling from inside the wardrobe, and a sinking feeling went through him. He had a feeling he knew what was going to happen now, and to show Dumbledore his treasures was frightening. He had only just secured a position at the school, what if Dumbledore didn't let him in now? Worst of all, what if he took them away?

'Open the door,' said Dumbledore.

Tom stood still for only a moment, considering whether or not the trick he'd used on Mrs Cole earlier would work this time. Somehow he doubted it. Tom crossed the room and opened the door. Up top, his treasure box was shaking quite violently, as though something was alive in there.

'Take it out.'

Tom removed the box with shaking fingers, staring at it as though he had never seen it before.

'Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?'

Tom looked at Dumbledore then, really looked at him. He was staring Tom down beneath his half-moon spectacles with a clear, serious expression that made Tom feel as though Dumbledore could read his mind.

It was then that a thought struck him – perhaps Dumbledore _could_ read his mind. How else would he have known about the box? For a fleeting moment, Tom considered lying to Dumbledore as he would have Mrs Cole, but he thought better of it. No doubt Dumbledore already knew the origins of his treasures, or at least guessed at them. Elsewise he would never have made Tom take them out.

'Yes,' said Tom finally. He knew then that it would do him no good to lie. 'I suppose so, sir.'

'Open it,' said Dumbledore, still staring at him over his spectacles.

Tom crossed the room, removed the lid, and looked down into the box a moment before dumping them quite unceremoniously on the bed. Normally, he treated them much more kindly, almost reverentially. These items represented all sorts of things to Tom, and they reminded him of his previous successes with… well, magic he supposed. Taken from children whom he had used his magic on. They were special to him, but it would not be wise to let Dumbledore know any of that. So Tom had very deliberately dumped them on the bed as though he couldn't care less.

Once they left the box and hit the bed, they stopped moving and Tom breathed a small, quiet sigh of relief. Seeing his treasures like that had filled him with a sense of unease.

'You will return them to their owners with your apologies,' Dumbledore was saying now. He placed his wand back into his pocket, and Tom's eyes followed it again. 'I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts.'

'Yes, sir,' said Tom, looking Dumbledore straight in the eye. Tom felt the familiar wave of anger wash over him, but he beat it back.

'At Hogwarts,' Dumbledore continued, 'we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have – inadvertently, I am sure – been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a Ministry – will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws.'

'Yes, sir,' replied Tom, collecting his prized possessions and placing them back into the box. He wondered if Dumbledore would truly know if he'd done it or not. Tom supposed he would. He had known they'd existed after all, when Tom had taken such careful steps to conceal them. No doubt Dumbledore would indeed know.

The prospect of returning them filled Tom with resentment and anger, but he beat that back as he had his anger from before. He had already shown Dumbledore too much of his true self in his excitement, and he did not wish to add to that. It was only as he considered replacing the items with newer, better and shinier versions from worthier opponents that Tom realized something.

'I haven't got any money,' he said, frowning. He hated that.

Dumbledore, however, had a solution. 'That is easily remedied,' he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small leather money-pouch. 'There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on second-hand, but –'

'Where do you buy spellbooks?' interrupted Tom, taking the offered pouch, which jingled slightly. Tom withdrew a large, golden coin. It looked nothing like the coins Tom was used to.

'In Diagon Alley,' answered Dumbledore. 'I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything –'

'You're coming with me?' asked Tom, looking up from the coin. He rather hoped not. He didn't want Dumbledore there with him while he explored this new place. Tom wanted to see every part of it and he rather doubted that having a chaperone would allow him to do that.

'Certainly, if you need –'

'I don't need you,' said Tom instantly, though he might've said, "I don't want you". 'I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley – sir?' Tom had caught Dumbledore's eye and remembered his courtesies.

Dumbledore handed over the list containing all of his school equipment, which Tom read through quickly. A cauldron, a wand, a list of spellbooks… As Tom scanned the list reverently, Dumbledore gave him instructions on how to get to somewhere called the "Leaky Cauldron", which Dumbledore said contained the entrance to Diagon Alley.

'You will be able to see it,' Dumbledore was saying now. 'Although Muggles around you – non-magical people, that is – will not. Ask for Tom the barman – easy enough to remember, as he shares your name.'

Tom felt his eye twitch a bit. It was a common name, to be sure. "Tom"…

Dumbledore didn't fail to notice. "You dislike the name "Tom"?'

'There are a lot of Toms,' Tom muttered in response, thinking of his father, whom he knew he had been named for. 'Was my father a wizard?' he blurted. He had to know. 'He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me.'

'I'm afraid I don't know,' said Dumbledore a bit sadly.

'My mother can't have been magic,' breathed Tom certainly. 'Or she wouldn't have died. It must've been him…'

There was another pause where Dumbledore merely looked at Tom, and Tom look at Dumbledore. Finally, to break the silence, Tom said, 'So – when I've got all my stuff – when do I come to this Hogwarts?'

'All the details,' said Dumbledore, stepping forward, 'are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope. You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there, too.'

Tom nodded. He knew how to get to King's Cross Station. He'd wandered through there alone a few times before, although he had never seen a train leaving for anywhere called "Hogwarts". Suddenly, or so it seemed to Tom, Dumbledore stood up and offered Tom his hand. Taking it, Tom said, 'I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips – they find me, whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?'

Tom had deliberately withheld this information for last. It was, to him, his most important power, and the one he found he enjoyed the most. Some people were afraid of snakes, but they had often become Tom's only friends. There was something familiar about snakes that made Tom feel comfortable and at ease. And as evidenced by his recent achievement, Tom could control them to great effect.

'It is unusual,' said Dumbledore after the briefest pause, 'but not unheard of.'

 _Unusual_ , thought Tom. He liked that. It confirmed what the snakes had told him, anyway. _Now there issss only you_ …

They stared at each other for a moment, man and boy, and then Dumbledore withdrew his hand and strode over to the door, leaving Tom standing in the centre of the room, still in awe of everything he had just learned.

'Goodbye, Tom,' said Dumbledore with a nod. 'I shall see you at Hogwarts.'

And with that, Dumbledore turned and was gone out the door, closing it behind him. Tom stood in the centre of that room for a long time trying to make sense of everything, and didn't move until Mrs Cole returned to perform the roll call. She didn't ask questions, and pretty soon Tom was left alone again, reading and re-reading his letter, whispering the words to himself in the dark, waiting for the day where he could go to Diagon Alley and see everything there was to see.

And after that, Hogwarts, to be with his own kind.

 _Well_ , thought Tom as he finally felt himself drifting off to sleep, _people with abilities like me. Never my own kind… There are none like me…_

 _Notes from the Author: The dialogue in this scene is taken word-for-word from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Dumbledore is showing Harry a memory of his, where he first meets a young Tom Riddle. This scene was interesting to write, as I had to mirror the exact wording and movements that J.K. Rowling gave us in the Half-Blood Prince. It was very cool trying to match what Dumbledore would have been seeing in Tom's face, or hearing in his voice, and then writing what Tom was thinking on the other side. How much of it was controlled, how much was revealed? The ultimate goal of this scene was to establish exactly what Dumbledore confided in Harry upon returning to his office after watching the memory - that Tom, in his haste and excitement, revealed a bit too much about his true personality and as a result, Dumbledore was forever wary of him at Hogwarts. As always, thanks for reading!_


	4. Diagon Alley

– CHAPTER FOUR –

 _Diagon Alley_

It was another several weeks before Tom's chance to slip away to Diagon Alley came.

Mrs Cole had taken ill and wouldn't be coming in today. He'd heard two of the maids talking about it early this morning, and apparently Joan was equally sick, so neither would be around. The duties normally left to those two were now given over to Marcus, a crotchety old man as foul-smelling as he was mean. He acted as Mrs Cole's assistant when she was around, but when she wasn't, he just sat down in the office drinking and listening to the radio. He wouldn't notice anything if Tom were to go off to London for the day.

Those weeks leading up to today were the longest Tom could ever remember. He would sit up late at night and well through the day pouring over his letter again and again until he had memorized all of the words. This was all he had ever dreamed of in truth, and Tom knew that when he went to this Hogwarts, he would be the finest and most brilliant and decorated student that they had ever seen.

Only, he would need all of his spellbooks, cauldrons, robes and most importantly, a wand (as he had learned the stick Dumbledore had used to lit his wardrobe afire was called), before he became all of that. There hadn't been an opportunity to sneak out to Diagon Alley since Professor Dumbledore had come to tell him that he was a wizard. Mrs Cole had been on duty most of the time, sharp-eyed and wary, patrolling the corridors, and even when she was away she had Joan nosing around as well like a trained hound.

Today was going to be different, though. Marcus was worse than useless at the best of times, but Tom had already snuck past the office once and seen him breaking into Mrs Cole's gin. By now, he was well and truly drunk.

And so it was that Tom Riddle knew that this was his chance. He waited around for the morning roll call, which one of the maids did in a rather half-hearted fashion, then he left out his bedroom door, tucking the pouch of strange-looking coins that Professor Dumbledore had given him deep in his pockets. His list of school things he kept in the pocket of his jacket.

Tom descended the stone lobby steps and easily slipped past the office door, which was barely ajar. Tom could smell tobacco coming from the room, and the grainy voices speaking on the old radio could be heard through the crack. He reached the front door and grabbed hold of the handle, when he felt a kind of tingle along the back of his neck, and he turned.

Jackson Davies was standing at the foot of the stairs, wide-eyed. He didn't say anything, but Tom knew he'd seen that he was about to leave.

'Breathe a word,' said Tom in his most menacing and dangerous voice, 'and you won't like what happens. You'll end up like Billy Stubbs' rabbit if you tell.'

And without another word, Tom turned the handle and dashed out the door, leaving Jackson dumbstruck in the foyer.

It was a clear morning, which was a rare enough thing in London. It was even kind of sunny, with small rays poking through the grey clouds swirling above. Tom walked through the familiar streets, not really paying attention. His feet knew where to go – he'd walked these roads plenty of times. He saw all sorts of people mulling about as he wandered, some of the faces familiar. The baker's wife, who Tom had charmed a time or two into giving him some free bread, some common folk about their business, even some soldiers still dressed as though the war were still going on.

No one talked to him as he walked. In fact, few people ever seemed to notice Tom unless he wanted them to. He was able to slip between small, familiar alleyways and navigate London in ways no one else could. Soon enough, he came to the small, dingy little street in the southern corner of London that Professor Dumbledore had told him would reveal the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

It was a small, dilapidated and forgotten part of London – Tom couldn't remember ever coming here on his own before. The cobblestone street was virtually deserted but for an old beggar man sitting atop a crate beneath a sign for a worn down tailor's shop. At the opposite end was an old army barracks.

Tom looked around, but he didn't see anything that stuck out to him. Frowning, he stepped into the empty street and walked to the other side and looked up and down, looking for something, _anything_ that appeared even remotely wizard-ish.

Fear and disappointment flooded through him as the thought came to him – perhaps it had all been an elaborate lie, and there was no Leaky Cauldron at all? And that old man had really been a Professor for the insane and the mental, and they were waiting right around the corner to pick him up and take him there. Tom knew from his explorations that there was actually an asylum close to here.

Tom stood rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do until –

'Wha'choo lookin' for, kid?'

Tom turned to find himself face to face with a rather unpleasant looking man - the beggar he'd noticed earlier. He was short, stocky and missing most of his teeth. The few that remained to him were brown and rotting. His face looked squashed, as though he'd run full-tilt into a wall and never really bothered to un-squash his features. His hair was brown, long and scraggly, and fell into his eyes. His right arm cut off at the elbow and he was missing most of his right leg as well, which led Tom to believe that he was a survivor from the war. He leaned heavily on a long wooden stick that aided him in walking.

'The Leaky Cauldron,' said Tom without a trace of fear or hesitation. It was made easy because he wasn't truly afraid. If he needed to, he could make this man hurt just like a child. He wasn't much bigger than one in truth, and with a missing leg and half an arm, he didn't strike a very imposing figure. 'Do you know it?'

'Leaky Cauldron?' said the man, confused. 'You fink you're bein' funny, kid?'

Tom sneered, taking a step forward. Without touching him, the man stumbled backwards as though he'd been pushed. He fell in the muddy water that had collected in a sinkhole in the cobblestone streets, looking this way and that way, trying to figure out what had knocked him over. Before Tom could do anything else, another man interrupted him.

'Oh, over here m'boy!' said another voice from behind him. 'I know the Leaky Cauldron.'

Tom turned away from the ugly man sprawled on the dirty street and turned to behold only a slightly more impressive figure. The man was short and stocky, much like the begger was, but had thick, straw-coloured hair and all of his teeth. He boasted a modest moustache, which was reddish-blonde, and his eyes were bright and kind. His waistcoat buttons bulged ever so slightly round an impressive midsection and he wore a pair of fine, shiny boots that looked to be made of some kind of thick animal hide. Tom thought he saw a pattern on them that looked almost like scales, and he wondered if they were snakeskin. The thought rankled him.

The man smiled at Tom quite jovially and beckoned him closer. 'Hogwarts?' asked the man.

Tom nodded, walking forwards.

The man frowned, looking about the deserted street, save for the beggar man muttering under his breath. 'And your parents? Where are they?'

'I haven't got any parents, sir,' said Tom evenly. 'I'm an orphan, you see.'

'Oh,' said the man, looking a bit uncomfortable. Then he said, 'The Leaky Cauldron, did you say?'

'Yes, sir.'

The man chuckled. 'Why, it's here! Right here.' And he turned on the spot to stare directly at a blank wall of stone between an old bookshop and a row of townhouses.

'I don't see anything,' said Tom angrily. 'Sir,' he added as an afterthought, thinking of Dumbledore.

'Ah,' said the plump man knowledgeably. 'Muggle-born, eh?' Tom frowned. "Muggle", that was what Dumbledore had called non-magical people, so Muggle- _born_ must mean…

'I'm not Muggle-born!' exclaimed Tom indignantly. 'My father was a wizard. My mother, too.' The lie left his lips smoothly and he knew that no hint of it could be seen on his face. He didn't like the idea of being "muggle-born" – he wanted nothing to do with non-magic folk. They were not his kind. Wizards were.

The man didn't seem perturbed in the slightest. 'Oh, of course! Well, not to worry, m'boy. Sometimes those who've not been brought up in our world have trouble at first. Completely normal. Sometimes you just need to look _harder_.' And he took Tom by the shoulders and spun him round to face the wall. Tom didn't like being touched, but this stranger seemed quite certain that this was the Leaky Cauldron, so he let it go. After a moment, the man said, 'Go on. Give it a try, m'boy.'

Tom did as the man asked and stared at the wall. It took a moment, but Tom saw a shimmer at the bottom left corner of the wall and then it all happened very suddenly. It was as though the place were pushing its way into the space between the bookshop and the row of townhouses. The wall itself seemed to ripple like still water that had been disturbed by a pebble, and it _moved_. And in no time at all (or so it seemed to Tom) the Leaky Cauldron stood before him as though it had been there the whole time.

It was a very shabby-looking pub. There was a sign hanging above the door with the name and a cauldron that did indeed appear to be leaking out the bottom. It, like most of the outside, was grungy and dirty. The two windows it sported out front were filthy and Tom couldn't see through them clearly enough to make out what was inside.

Tom's expression must've changed because the man chuckled again and flourished his hand dramatically and said, 'The Leaky Cauldron. I take it you can see it now, then?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Tom, taking everything in. It was a fairly disappointing thing to be the first wizarding establishment that Tom would see. He had been expecting something a bit grander, he supposed, not this old pub that looked as though it might fall apart at any moment. It reminded him most unpleasantly of the orphanage.

It also rankled Tom that he had not been able to see it initially, as this man had. He had even hinted that other young boys like him could see it without trying! As though there was something wrong with him!

Some kind of emotion – anger, perhaps, or disappointment– must've shown in his face, because the man said, 'Not to worry, m'boy. Very normal, as I said. Shall we go in? Oh!' exclaimed the man, jumping ever so slightly. 'Silly of me. I'm Horace, Horace Slughorn.' He offered Tom a plump hand and smiled.

Tom took it. 'Tom Riddle.'

'Riddle?' confirmed Slughorn, looking thoughtful. It was as though he were trying to remember something. Then he shrugged. 'Well, I've taught thousands of students. Difficult to keep them all straight, you know...'

'Students?' asked Tom, his interest piqued.

'Oh yes. I teach Potions, at Hogwarts.'

A Hogwarts Professor! Tom couldn't have been more interested in the man than he was right then. He was bursting with questions – what's Hogwarts like? What kinds of things will I learn? What are the other subjects? Where is it? But Tom could see that Slughorn was a proud man, and very pleased with his own importance. " _I know plenty of people_ ", he had said. Here was a man utterly unlike Dumbledore and Mrs Cole. Slughorn, he knew, could be charmed and placated and thus manipulated. All it took was a little patience.

'That must be very rewarding for you, sir. You must be very good at it to teach. The best, even.'

'Well, I've met some great Potioneers in my time, Hesper Starkey, Libatius Borage…'

Tom smiled. 'I think you're being modest, sir. _They_ aren't teaching at Hogwarts, are they?'

Slughorn murmured something Tom didn't hear, but he could tell that the Professor was pleased nonetheless. He looked a bit flustered as he gestured to the door of the Leaky Cauldron.

'Shall we go on in?'

The inside of the pub was no less shabby, perhaps more so. It was small and a bit cramped-looking. There were only a few people mulling about the place; the man behind the bar, whose name he knew was Tom; a pair of old women in the corner by the fireplace, and a strange-looking man with bright blue hair and a pig's nose in a very long and elegant emerald-green robe was sitting at the bar.

'Fascinating subject, potions,' said Slughorn as he stood in the doorway looking around. 'You can do all kinds of things with potions that can't truly be replicated with wandwork.'

'It sounds fascinating, sir. I can't wait to start.'

Slughorn grinned down at Tom. 'Ah, you're ambitious… and smart. Determined. You'll be in my House, and I shall be very glad to have you. I've not been wrong yet.'

'House, sir?' asked Tom curiously.

'Oh, yes,' replied Slughorn with a nod, leading Tom through the pub. 'Students of Hogwarts are sorted into the four Houses, according to their skills. I'd forgotten that you of course wouldn't know this –'

'I would love to hear all about it, sir,' said Tom earnestly.

'Well, there's Gryffindor that houses the bold and the brave,' said Slughorn, ticking them off his fingers. 'Then Ravenclaw, the intellects and those full of wit. Hufflepuff takes the good the just and the fair, and then there is Slytherin,' he said with a wink down at Tom. 'Ambitious, cunning, resourceful… And powerful. Slytherin has housed all manner of great witches and wizards over the centuries. Merlin was a Slytherin, you know.'

'I didn't,' admitted Tom quietly, too lost in his thoughts to say anything else. Slytherin, he thought… Yes, that was where he belonged. Amongst the greatest witches and wizards of the century _and_ the past. Ambitious, cunning, resourceful…

 _And powerful_.

That was what Tom really craved. He was powerful already, he knew that, but he wanted more, and it sounded as though Slytherin could provide that more so than the others. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor sounded equally stupid and soft-hearted. "Bold and brave" was just another way of saying "loud and stupid", and as for "good, just and fair", Tom couldn't imagine anything worse. He supposed Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, but it didn't resonate with him as Slytherin had, and Tom already knew that he was clever. He had been the brightest student during the lessons at the orphanage.

Tom wanted to ask Slughorn more questions about Slytherin, but the man weaved through the empty tables and chairs and made for a back door at the end of the pub. Tom followed.

'Now,' said Slughorn, passing by the barman with a smile and a wave, 'this way.' Slughorn led him through the back of the bar and into a small stone courtyard. It was a dead end. Slughorn stood in front of the far wall, looking excited. 'I remember my first visit to Diagon Alley,' he said wistfully. 'So exciting!'

Tom certainly was excited, though he failed to see how they would get to Diagon Alley through this courtyard. Perhaps it was another trick, like the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron?

Slughorn reached into the inside pocket of his elaborate waistcoat and withdrew his wand. Tom's eyes followed it as he placed it on a brick of the wall and tapped it three times. The brick he'd tapped wiggled slightly and a small hole appeared, which grew wider and wider until the wall itself disappeared altogether, leaving only a very large archway that revealed a long winding alleyway bustling with activity.

And not just the usual kind of activity Tom had seen on the streets of London – women dragging children by the hand, men selling newspapers or other wares, cars driving down the street, honking – but all kinds of amazing things, things other people would have thought impossible. Owls flew round all over the place, hooting all the while. Tom glanced one clutching a sealed envelope as it flew past his head. Someone zoomed past him on a broomstick as well, flying through the air. Out in front of shops, children stood transfixed, pressing their faces up against the glass to watch as things exploded, buzzed and whirred inside what looked to be a magical toyshop.

Slughorn chuckled lowly as he beheld Tom's amazement. 'Yes, my face looked something like that my first time as well. I was perhaps four or five.' Slughorn turned to look at Tom. 'Will you be all right from here?' he asked, looking wistfully back into the pub.

'Yes, sir,' said Tom confidently. He wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of the place – _alone_.

'Got your list of school supplies, then?'

Tom nodded.

'Oh, before you go, I'd recommend buying a trunk for all of your things, elsewise you'll never be able to carry everything. Try _Truly Triumphant Travelling Trunks._ I know the shopkeeper – an old student of mine.' He winked. 'Off with you, then. Have fun!'

He waved Tom goodbye and the archway shrunk back into the solid wall that it had been before. The last thing Tom saw was Slughorn waving through the tiny hole left behind before it disappeared altogether, leaving him alone.

Tom started down the crowded streets, weaving in and out. It was difficult to navigate because there were so many people and the place was so unfamiliar, but Tom didn't mind. He was so entranced with everything that was going on. He passed a place called _Eeylops Owl Emporium_ , which housed all manner of different types of owls for sale. There were candy shops (some of the candy seemed to actually be alive and moving), icecream shops (in one shop, the icecream appeared to be making itself), and a robe shop (a pair of robes complete with shoes seemed to be dancing in the window, inviting people inside).

It was only as he passed the robe shop that Tom noticed how very much he stuck out. Everywhere he looked people were in robes of varying hues. Most of the adults wore the colours, whereas the children were all in black. Tom consulted his list of school supplies, the first item written down was " _three sets of plain work robes (black)"._ A bell above the door jingled as Tom stepped into the shop with the dancing robes.

The process was quick as, since Tom was buying secondhand, the selection was limited. Even so, Tom left the shop with two sets of black robes in a bag, the final set having already been put on, and set out to explore Diagon Alley.

He saw all manner of extraordinary things as he walked and he found himself being taken in by all of the amazing things happening around him. Owls zooming past with envelopes clutched in their talons (Tom could now safely assume that they were delivering postage, a strange notion to him), enchanted objects hopping about on tables from within shop windows, witches and wizards selling their strange wares in the street. One witch claimed that her wares would make the wearer perform more powerful magic, but only when purchased as a set consisting of no less than twenty-eight pieces of various jewelry and headgear.

After awhile it became apparent that Slughorn's advice was more prudent than anything, so Tom picked up a secondhand trunk at a store different than the one Slughorn had recommended. It turned out that Tom could put as many things as he liked in there and it never seemed to fill, even things bigger than the trunk itself, like the cauldron he'd purchased. In addition to that, it was light as a feather as he pulled it through the streets behind him, and pretty soon Tom had stuffed all manner of things in there – potions ingredients, his robes, a set of used scales, his set list of spellbooks as well as a couple extra volumes that Tom hoped might help him learn more about his new world.

There was only one thing left – his wand.

Tom turned a corner in search of a wand shop and beheld an enormous building of white brick with the name _Gringotts_ _Wizarding Bank_ inlaid in gold lettering at the top. Gringotts was much larger than any other building Tom had seen in Diagon Alley, and he walked past it in awe, taking particular note of a couple of small, ugly creatures standing outside the doors. They were perhaps four feet tall, with long fingers and toes with elongated nails.

Tom turned yet another corner and found what at first appeared to be a dead end until he noticed a small alleyway in one of the corners with a sign above that read _Knockturn Alley._ Tom peered down to see, but it was more dimly lit than the main street, with tall buildings with large roofs and awnings that blocked out most of the sun.

'Tom, m'boy!'

Tom turned to see Slughorn walking towards him at a brisk pace. He seemed a bit out of breath as he came up to Tom and said, 'You'll want to avoid Knockturn Alley just now, I'd say.'

'What's down there, sir?'

'Oh, well, some of the shops, ah… Have rare potions ingredients, I've visited a few times myself, but it's all very advanced stuff Tom. Everything you'll need is down this way.' He put an arm around Tom's shoulder and led him away from Knockturn Alley and back into the main street. 'Have you gotten everything?'

'Nearly,' replied Tom, shrugging out of Slughorn's shoulder. 'I've just got my wand left, sir.'

'Oh!' said Slughorn excitedly, leading him down a street and stopping in front of a shop that reminded Tom of the way the Leaky Cauldron had first looked. 'You'll want Ollivander's, then.'

 _Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC._ was written atop the store in gold lettering, similar to Gringotts. There were a few wands on display in the single window, but much like the Leaky Cauldron, it was too dirty and dusty to see inside properly.

'A very fine wandmaker, Ollivander. There are others abroad, of course, but almost all Hogwarts students use Ollivander,' said Slughorn eagerly, nodding towards the door. 'Go on. I've only got one thing left to do, and then I'll have finished my business for the day. I'll wait here and escort you back out to the Leaky Cauldron when you're done. Choosing a wand is something best done alone, I'd say. Besides,' he added, chuckling, 'the process can get a bit… messy.'

And so it was that Tom entered Ollivander's to receive his wand alone, which didn't bother him in the slightest. The store itself was quite small and very dusty. There were countless narrow boxes stacked high almost to the ceiling all covered in a solid layer of dust. There was a small counter behind which a thin man stood, staring at Tom with pale, grey eyes. He didn't appear to be much older than Dumbledore or Slughorn, but his hair was greying and he seemed to Tom to possess a frailty that neither Dumbledore nor Slughorn had possessed.

Despite this, Tom sensed that the man was powerful in his own way. Certainly knowledgeable… It was the eyes that spoke of untold wisdom and power.

'Good afternoon,' said the man in a soft voice, striding around the counter to stand a foot away from Tom. The man was only a few inches taller. 'I am Mr. Ollivander, and you…'

'Tom Riddle,' he said confidently.

Mr Ollivander nodded almost imperceptibly and withdrew his wand so fast that Tom couldn't have been sure where he'd taken it. In an instant, a tape measurer flew off the counter and began taking Tom's measurements. Ollivander took hold of Tom's left arm and examined it closely. After a moment, he said, 'You are left handed.' It wasn't a question.

Tom nodded.

'Your wand arm, then,' said the wandmaker. A strange, appraising look appeared on his face as he beheld Tom. Then, in an instant it was gone, and Ollivander turned to search through a pile of wands stacked high. Meanwhile, the tape measurer seemed to be taking everything into account, as it was currently measuring the space between Tom's eyeballs. Hovering beside it was a quill and parchment, which seemed to be documenting everything.

'Choosing a wand,' said Ollivander as he walked across the store to pick up one of the narrow boxes stacked along the left side, 'is not so easy as it seems, Mr Riddle. It is not merely a tool of the wizard to wave about to cast magic. Your wand must be an extension of yourself.' Ollivander seemed to glide across the floor as he offered Tom a box with a pale wooden wand inside it. 'Your two personalities and traits in unison, for you and your wand will work together more closely than you can imagine.'

'You make them sound alive,' said Tom, staring down at the wand that Ollivander had offered him. He reached forwards, but the moment before Tom could grab ahold of it, Ollivander snatched it away and ran to fetch another one.

'Oh, they are Mr Riddle,' said Ollivander with wonder, returning with a new wand and its box. 'Wands are mysterious things, and their secrets are elusive, even for those of us who study wandlore. However, what is clear is that wands have a much greater role in choosing a wizard than the other way around.'

Tom rather doubted it. He looked down at the wand resting neatly in the box that Ollivander offered to him and couldn't help but feel that Mr Ollivander took this wand business a little too seriously. A wand, Tom had come to learn by observation of Slughorn and Dumbledore, was necessary to perform most kinds of magic. It was nothing more than a tool a great wizard used to cast extraordinary magic, and Tom looked down at the feeble stick and could see nothing more than that.

Still, it was required if he was to become a great wizard, and that was something Tom wanted very much indeed. Tom reached forwards to take hold of the wand as he had before, but he hadn't had it in his hands for even a second before Mr Ollivander snatched it away again, muttering under his breath.

'Maple and unicorn hair,' said Ollivander softly, offering Tom another wand to try. 'Eight and a half inches. Inflexible.'

Tom took it from its box more roughly this time since he was getting annoyed with the crotchety old man. The moment he touched it, the wand shot out a quick gout of what looked like green flame, which ignited Mr Ollivander's sleeve. He put it out with a quiet spell and a stream of water, and then took the wand very carefully from Tom's grasp. 'Too temperamental,' he muttered. 'Too… emotional.'

He put the wand back and came back with another, and then another, and then another. Tom felt as though he had tried every wand in the store, and the whole process was growing tiresome and Tom was getting very irritated by the end. Ollivander, however, seemed to grow more and more excited as the discarded wands Tom hadn't responded to piled higher, taking on a kind of excited, fevered speech as he talked about the qualities and characteristics of each individual wand.

Finally, Ollivander approached with a box which held a wand that looked to be much longer than many of the wands Tom had tried previously. Ollivander held it almost reverentially as he approached. 'This wand I completed quite recently,' he said, holding it out to Tom. 'Yew. Thirteen and a half inches, containing the tailfeather of a pheonix. I'd run low on phoenix tailfeathers, but a donor was kind enough to offer me two. The other wand is nearly complete. They shall be brothers. Twins, as it were.'

Ollivander removed the wand from its box and handed it to Tom, who grasped it firmly and held it out in front of his chest. For a moment it seemed as though nothing would happen, and then Tom saw a thin wisp of pale smoke emit from the tip of the wand, curving through the air. There was also a kind of intense heat that seemed to emanate from this wand which had never happened with any of the others. Tom could feel the warmth in his fingers, and he watched as the vapour leaking out of the tip of the wand twisted and writhed and grew longer, larger, taking the shape of…

A snake. It coiled itself in the air a few inches from the tip of the wand, and turned to hiss at Ollivander, who looked unnerved. With a wave of his wand, the snake disappeared in a puff of smoke and the intense heat that Tom had felt earlier disappeared with it. The wand still felt warm to his touch, however, comfortable in his hand. There was a long silence where neither Tom nor Mr Ollivander said anything. Tom was feeling elated, surely this wand was the one – he had never felt this way about anything before. It was _his_ wand, and with it he would do extraordinary things. Things that no one else had ever done before. He would use this wand to prove himself to the entire wizarding world, to Dumbledore, even to that crabby Mrs Cole. He would make them all see how powerful he really was.

Mr Ollivander was looking down at him with a renewed mix of interest and apprehension. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing, turning around instead and striding very deliberately to the other end of the counter.

'I daresay that that is the wand for you, Mr Riddle,' he said after a long moment. Tom stood in the centre of the shop with the wand – _his_ wand – still in his hand. 'And I feel obligated to tell you that I have never before seen a wand react to its owner in such a powerful display of ability.'

Tom said nothing, but he was pleased with what the man told him. _Never before_ , Mr Ollivander had said. _Powerful display of ability_ …

Tom happily paid for his new wand and made to leave, but just as Tom put his hand on the doorknob, Mr Ollivander cleared his throat and Tom turned.

'I have sold a great many wands to a great many wizards, Mr Riddle,' Mr Ollivander said. 'I have seen many young boys grow to become great wizards with the wands I have given them.' Here, Mr Ollivander stepped around from the counter to look at Tom more closely. 'But none, I think, such as you. I have long believed that the bestowing of wands for the first time shows us a glimpse of the wizard to come, a sign, if you will… I can confidently say, therefore, that I think we can expect great things from you...' There was a sharp intake of breath from Mr Ollivander, and then -

'Yes,' he whispered, staring intently at Tom, his pale grey eyes wide. 'Great things...'

 _Notes from the Author: My favourite Chapter so far. I enjoy the character of Ollivander so much. He's just the perfect mixture of creepy and knowledgeable. There are a few things in this Chapter that I wanted to clarify. Firstly, the introduction of Slughorn was necessary to establish a relationship between the two characters, because other than Tom's prowess with magic in the classroom (coming up later), there was little reason for him to adopt him into the early versions of "the Slug Club" (coming up later as well). Besides, I think it's nice! Secondly, I threw in that little bit about Tom being left-handed for two reasons. One, simply put, it's never stated in the books whether or not he is right or left-handed, presumably because it's just not that relevant, so I had some wiggle room. Secondly, left-handed people are more uncommon, and anything that can be done to set Tom apart from people just adds to his character, because let's be frank, the man (and supremely awesome and evil Dark Lord) he becomes is made out to be unique and utterly unlike anyone else (at least in his mind). Finally, the wand-choosing scene with Ollivander is made out to be very similar to Harry's own, in order to draw a parallel between the two characters. Both have difficulty finding a wand, both choose a wand with the same Phoenix's tailfeathers (Dumbledore's own Fawkes' feathers, for you Harry Potter supernerds), and both are told by Ollivander that he anticipates that they will do "great things", and they do. Nearly a century later, when he sells Harry his wand, Ollivander corrects himself saying, 'After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great.' Anyway, thanks for reading. This one was longer than the rest, but hopefully no less interesting because of it. Next up: The Hogwarts Express, and of course, Hogwarts!_


	5. The Hogwarts Express

– CHAPTER FIVE –

 _The Hogwarts Express_

Much like his wait for an opportunity to slip away to Diagon Alley, September the first came very slowly for Tom, but the wait was made much more interesting due to his purchases in Diagon Alley. He spent hours of the day and night pouring over his school textbooks, reading about the various magical creatures in his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ or reading up on the theories behind curses and counter-curses, the differences between jinxes and hexes. He quickly discovered that there were many different branches of magic, from Transfiguration (turning something into something else) and Charms (enchanting objects with additional properties) to the precise art of Potion-making (creating complicated mixtures with various ingredients to produce a specific effect), which Slughorn had mentioned in Diagon Alley. Tom was astounded to learn that each of those categories of magic had all sorts of sub-categories and minor schools and branches of magic that it was very difficult to keep track of them all, yet Tom was determined to do so.

Currently, Tom was pouring over his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander, a celebrated "magizoologist", which Tom took to mean an expert in magical creatures. He'd already read the whole book of course, but he was amazed by the number of creatures catalogued in the book that he had never heard tell of outside of myth – dragons (of which there were various types), centaurs and chimaeras, werewolves and manticores, and most interestingly, basilisks, the creature Tom was currently reading about.

 _Name: Basilisk, also known as the King of Serpents_

 _Size: 50ft, on average._

 _Distinctive features: Scarlet plume atop its head (males), green scales_

 _Ministry of Magic Classification: XXXXX_

 _The Basilisk is among one of the most deadly creatures contained in this text_ , wrote Scamander. _Indeed, the Basilisk, or the King of Serpents, possesses numerous methods in which it can kill. It's stare is lethal to all those who look upon it, and a Basilisk's venom is amongst the most poisonous and destructive substances known to wizardkind, bringing death within minutes to most creatures. Basilisks are born from the egg of a chicken, hatched beneath a toad, and can grow upwards of fifty feet in length, on average. Much like its serpent cousins, Basilisks shed their skins regularly, and can live for hundreds of years. Spiders fear it above all other creatures (a fear likely rooted in the unfortunate fact that spiders have many sets of eyes in which the Basilisk's stare can kill). Though a Basilisk is a fearsome creature with few weaknesses, the crow of a rooster remains lethal to it (specific reason unknown). Its XXXXX classification with the Ministry of Magic labels it a known wizard killer with no hope of domestication. To this end, Basilisk breeding is outlawed by the Ministry of Magic and all chicken coops are subject to inspection in accordance with wizarding law. As a result of these stringent Ministry laws, there have been no recorded sightings of Basilisks in Britain for the last 400 years._

There was an accompanying illustration which seemed to show a serpent of enormous size devouring a man whole. There were many other strange and fantastic creatures that Scamander had written about, his entries catalogued their behaviours and dietary restrictions. Some creatures, Tom learned, were considered pests and vermin (like "garden gnomes"), while others were seen in a kinder light, often used as pets or even mounts. Some of the creatures Tom even recognized from his perusing of the Muggle library here at the orphanage, albeit the creatures were normally known by different names. The Hippogriff, for example, resembled the description given in literature written by E. Nesbit, whose work Tom had found in the library, however the hippogriffs depicted in Scamander's book had far more detailed information and depictions.

Though heavily engrossed in Scamander's writings on the various magical creatures of his new world, Tom had not neglected the rest of his books, particularly his spellbooks. Slughorn had warned him as they parted ways in Diagon Alley that he was not to be practicing magic outside of the school, that the Ministry of Magic was very strict about it, and he could get in trouble. The warning had echoed Dumbledore's when he'd first visited, and so far Tom had found it in him to refrain from actively practicing his spells.

Still, Tom had found his way around it. So far, his other methods of magic remained undetected. He'd spoken with the snakes by the creek (he had to sneak out, because Mrs Cole was still keeping him strictly indoors), and asked them about the Basilisk, to which they all agreed was the mightiest of them, though none had ever met one. He'd levitated things across his room with his mind, packing his school trunk with all of the essentials whilst sitting on the edge of the bed, hardly lifting a finger. His wand he'd determined to keep on his person at all times, much like he'd seen Dumbledore and Slughorn do, so he had it tucked inside an inner pocket of his sweater most times.

Sometimes Tom found his hand drifting away to his pocket almost absentmindedly, and he would remove his wand and simply look at it. It was black and sleek, and quite long, almost fourteen inches. He removed it from his pocket now and marvelled at it as he often did, running his hand down its length.

There was a knock on the door and Tom slipped the wand back into his pocket just as Mrs Cole entered the room. Tom saw her eyes scan the room as though she were looking for something.

'I'm glad to see that you're all packed and ready to go,' she said.

'I've been _ready_ to leave this dump for years,' said Tom, staring at his trunk, which was now closed. He didn't want to look at Mrs Cole.

'The taxicab is waiting for you downstairs, and –'

'I said I would rather have walked!'

But Mrs Cole grew stern. 'You won't be wandering London on your own anymore, Tom. The taxicab will take you to King's Cross Station. I will accompany you –'

'You will not!' exclaimed Tom angrily, jumping off of the bed and glaring at her. 'I've already made arrangements with the school. One of my Professors is going to meet me there,' he lied smoothly. 'I don't need you to watch over me like a child!'

'You are a child,' she replied coldly. 'And so long as you are in the care of this orphanage, you are my responsibility. I will accompany you to King's Cross Station. There will be no more discussion on the matter. Do you need help taking your things downstairs?'

'No,' said Tom furiously, wanting nothing more than for her to leave.

'Very well,' said Mrs Cole. 'I will wait for you in the lobby.'

And she turned and left, leaving Tom more angry than he'd been in a long time. He was almost panting from the effort of yelling at Mrs Cole. She was so nosey and intrusive, always sticking her big nose into Tom's business. This was just like her. Still, if he was to make the train on time, he would need to leave soon.

Tom gathered his things and picked up his trunk, which was light as a feather, and took everything downstairs. Mrs Cole waited for him alone in the lobby, although Tom noticed some of the children watching anxiously from their various hiding spots – Amy Bensen from behind a bookshelf, Billy Stubbs behind the railings of the stairs, Dennis Bishop poking his head out of the bathroom.

'You are ready, then?' asked Mrs Cole.

Tom nodded, not trusting himself to speak without yelling in fury, and walked out to the taxicab. The driver came up to Tom to take his trunk, but Tom told him off and placed the trunk in the cab himself. If Mrs Cole thought this was odd, she didn't say so.

The drive itself was short, and before long the car came to a stop and Tom hopped out while Mrs Cole told the man she would return shortly, and to wait for her here.

'Have you got your ticket?' asked Mrs Cole, striding over.

'Yes.' He'd like to have withdrawn it and shown it to her, waving it in her face triumphantly, but he didn't. He had looked at it for the first time himself just last night, and he was still a bit confused. He was to be leaving from platform nine and three-quarters, which was odd. Tom had never taken a train before, but he'd wandered King's Cross Station before, and he had never seen a platform nine and three-quarters. He didn't want to share his uncertainty with Mrs Cole, however. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to leave her here and enter the Station alone.

He looked at her appraisingly, trying to figure out the best way to achieve this goal. She wasn't looking at him – Mrs Cole was squinting her eyes against the sun, looking out across the lot. Getting angry at her hadn't worked earlier, in fact it had just made her dig her heels in, but Tom knew that Mrs Cole cared about the children in her charge, and while she was hard and stern, she had a soft heart that Tom absolutely despised. He could use her ability to love against her though, and he smiled to himself as the idea came to him. He knew just what to do.

'Mrs Cole?' said Tom, glancing at her. 'I was wondering if – if I could go alone from here?' He was certain to include just the right amongst of hesitancy and tremulousness in his voice. 'It's just that… All of the other children will be with their families, and I don't have a family.'

She looked at him, frowning, and he continued.

'I know how to get to the train,' he persisted, knowing this was the right course, 'and one of my Professors really is meeting me inside, truly. I just don't want everyone to know that I…' He faked wordlessness, then looked down at his feet sullenly, shuffling them awkwardly. He looked up at her with as innocent and wide-eyed a look as he could muster.

Her face remained frozen for a moment and then Tom saw her expression soften and he knew he had her.

'All right,' she said a bit reluctantly. 'I'll watch you go in from here. I suppose you've been to King's Cross before, have you?' she added rather crossly.

Tom nodded, staring her down.

'Very well. Good luck in your schooling, Tom,' she said. 'We'll… We'll see you next summer.'

Tom nodded and dragged his trunk forwards towards the entrance to King's Cross. Once he was inside, he allowed himself another triumphant smile. Mrs Cole had been as easy to manipulate as any other person, Tom realized. Sharp and wary she may be, but she had succumbed to her emotions and her insistent belief in childhood innocence, and Tom would remember that the next time.

Those were the sorts of tricks Tom would have to rely on at Hogwarts, he knew. He had given it a lot of thought, and decided that Dumbledore was right. His past behaviour would not be tolerated at school, and given half a chance, Dumbledore would no doubt see him in trouble or worse should any wrongdoing be connected to him. Tom would need to rely on charm instead of the reign of fear and terror he'd exerted on the children of the orphanage.

Tom continued through the Station, weaving through the throngs of people who seemed to part for him on their own. He kept walking until he found himself standing between platforms nine and ten, glancing between the two of them. Platform nine and three quarters ought to be somewhere in the middle, he thought, only there was nothing but empty space.

It had to be another illusion, like Diagon Alley, he thought, so he stared very intently at the place directly in the middle, just as he had done with the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. He did this for a full minute to no avail, so he stepped forwards towards the pillar marking platform nine, and took out his wand, and began tapping each of the bricks three times. He did the same thing for the pillar marking platform ten, but nothing happened.

Frustrated, Tom returned to his place in the centre of the two and looked around. A young girl of around his age was looking at him curiously. She was standing with her parents and what looked to be a little brother, who were engrossed in conversation and not paying attention. Tom stared her down much as he did to frighten the other children at the orphanage, but the girl did not cower. Instead, she tugged her mother's skirts and said something, then began walking over to him.

'Hello,' she said when she'd approached, her eyes narrowed slightly.

'Hello,' said Tom in a neutral voice.

There was a pause, and then he saw the girl's eyes move from his face to the wand still clasped in his hands, which he had forgotten. Hastily, he made to put it away, but the girl gasped and said, 'No, no! Wait. I'm Hogwarts, too.'

Tom looked at her. She was about as tall as he was, and upon closer inspection he determined that she was likely a bit older too. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, and fell to her shoulders. She was slender, with a long and narrow nose but an otherwise pretty face.

'Are you having difficulty getting onto the platform?' she asked. Her tone was accusing.

Tom said nothing. He didn't want to admit to this girl that he didn't know something about the magical world.

'Where are your parents?' the girl demanded. 'Why are you here all alone? Are you a pure-blood?' she added finally, taking a step forward and pointing a threatening finger at him.

Tom was about to respond testily when the girl's parents came over. The mother was dragging the little brother by the hand, and she wrapped her other hand around the girl's shoulder protectively.

'Now, now, Lucretia,' said the woman soothingly. 'Let the boy alone.'

'Hold now Melania,' said the father, a rather stern looking man with the same dark hair as his daughter. 'They were fair questions. Where _are_ your parents?'

'Dead sir,' muttered Tom, determined to make as good an impression as he could with the first wizarding family he'd ever encountered. 'I do most things on my own.'

' _Pure_ -blood then?'

But the mother intervened before Tom could answer. 'Honestly, Arcturus.' She stepped forward. 'What is your name?'

'Tom Riddle, ma'am.'

The husband made a noise deep in his throat that Tom misliked, but the woman said, 'Well, Tom, Lucretia's in third-year. She's been through to the platform twice now. She can help you.' The husband, Arcturus, looked to be on the verge of arguing, but his wife overrode him. 'Go now, Lucretia. We'll say goodbye here.' Tom watched as the girl, Lucretia, said her farewells to her mother and father, then she messed up her little brother's hair, who protested loudly. She just laughed and turned to Tom as her parents stepped back to watch them.

'The platform is hidden, so _Muggles_ ,' and here she said the word with a certain derision and turned up her nose, 'can't get in. You just run right up to the wall. You can go after me! I'll wait for you on the other side.'

And without another word, Lucretia was gone from his side. She ran straight at the wall between the two platforms, nearly collided with several people (Muggles, Tom presumed), and then she was gone. No one but Tom seemed to have noticed that a whole girl and her trunk had disappeared through a wall.

Tom wasn't surprised after some of the things he'd seen so far in the wizarding world. In fact, based on his experiences so far, disappearing completely through solid objects was very commonplace. How many other untold wonders were hidden in the Muggle world? How many times had Tom wandered through London and passed wizards or witches, or magical places that had merely been cleverly concealed?

Grinning broadly, Tom set out at a run straight for the barrier. The wall grew closer with every step but Tom was not afraid – he trusted and believed in magic in a way that he had never believed in anything else before. And just as his faith told him he would, Tom ran straight through the wall, through to the other side, and everything changed.

The sounds and smells changed, the sights changed. Even the feeling of the air seemed to change to him, it was as though he could feel the magical vibrations in the air. Everything felt so much more alive here than in the Muggle world.

Directly in front of him was an enormous scarlet steam engine with an overhead sign that read _Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock_. All around him people were mulling about just like on the other side of the barrier, but they were different. The dull greys and browns of the London Muggle commoners were gone, replaced by bright colours and hues of witches and wizards dressed in all manner of robes. Tom saw pointed hat's and long silky flowing robes. An older boy dressed in the same black robes that Tom had purchased in Diagon Alley walked past with his nose buried deep in a book that was levitating in front of him as he walked. Owls flew around all over the Station delivering post, and almost everywhere Tom looked there were children with their parents.

Tom had always wondered about his parents and why they had abandoned him. They had told him that his mother had died giving birth to him, but his father – whoever that was – had never come looking for him. Certainly his mother could not have been magical if she were to die so easily, but Tom was determined to find out about his father. Surely if he had been a wizard he'd have attended Hogwarts? No doubt Tom could search through the records to find him, and then demand to know why he had been abandoned.

'Are you all right?' asked Lucretia beside him.

'Yes,' said Tom honestly. He had never been happier in his life than he was right now gazing out at the magic before him. Lucretia was looking too, and her eyes locked onto a small boy fighting his way through the throng, headed their way.

'Oh, here comes my – well, cousin, I think. Perhaps he's a second cousin, I really don't know for certain –'

Tom looked up just as a small, skinny boy that looked to be Tom's age approached. He was dark-haired like Lucretia, but kinder looking. He grinned excitedly at Lucretia when he arrived.

'This is so exciting,' he said to her. 'I'm finally going to Hogwarts.'

'Tom's a first-year, too,' she said, sounding bored. They shook hands and Tom learned that the boy's name was Alphard Black.

'The Black's are a very old family,' he was saying proudly as they searched the train for an empty compartment. 'We're one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Lucretia's my second-cousin, if you go back far enough.'

Tom found the boy a little too talkative for his liking and more than a bit annoying, but he wasn't about to tell him so. Alphard seemed perfectly willing to talk at length about all manner of things wizardish, and any information about the wizarding world was information Tom wanted to hear about.

'The Sacred Twenty-Eight is a list of pure-blood families,' Alphard was telling Tom excitedly. 'From the _Pure-Blood Directory_. It was published quite recently. No one knows who the author is, though. He never gave his name. My mother says he wanted to avoid criticism for his views, but my _father_ says that's stupid, and whoever the author is, he's a coward for not putting his name on that book.' And from here, Alphard began listing all twenty-eight of the pure-blood families by memory, hesitating on only a few of them. He'd managed to name twenty-seven of them, but was stumped on the last. Finally after a minute's contemplation he said, 'Oh, yes, and the Weasley's… But my father says they're blood traitors and don't belong amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight.'

They found an empty compartment and got all of their trunks put away. Lucretia left them to go and find her third-year friends, which left Tom and Alphard alone. Tom spoke very little, preferring to allow Alphard to ramble on about his childhood in the wizarding world, and his upbringing amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Tom checked his beaten and battered watch as Alphard described the wizarding sport Quidditch, something Tom was not particularly interested in. It was ten minutes to eleven, and then they would be off. Tom didn't know how long the journey to Hogwarts was, but his excitement was growing every minute.

'Do you two mind if I sit here?' asked a girl's voice, cutting Alphard off mid-sentence.

Tom turned away from the window and found a girl standing in the doorway. She had blonde hair, almost white, and a sharp, pale face. She stood in the doorway with one hand on her trunk, which was trailing behind her. She was already dressed in her Hogwarts robes.

Alphard shrugged and looked at Tom, who could think of no real reason to deny her, so she sat down.

'I'm Druella Rosier,' said the girl.

'Alphard Black,' said Alphard proudly. 'One of –'

'The Sacred Twenty-Eight?' sneered Druella. 'You forget – so are the Rosiers. We can trace our pure-blood line as far back as you Blacks.' She turned to Tom. 'What about you?'

'I'm Tom Riddle,' said Tom defiantly.

'Don't know any Riddles,' said Druella warily, no doubt wondering about Tom's parentage. She turned to Alphard. 'What House d'you expect to be put in?'

'Slytherin, I expect,' said Alphard with a shrug. 'All of the Blacks are Slytherins.'

Druella nodded. 'Most of us Rosiers, too. I've got a Hufflepuff cousin, but he's a prat and we don't normally talk about him.' She looked at Tom. 'What about you Riddle?'

Tom didn't like his first name, in truth. It was much too common – no doubt there were a dozen "Toms" on this train alone – but he hated being addressed purely by his last name even more. It reminded him of his uncertain parentage and all he could think of was the Sacred Twenty-Eight and their pure-blood lines. It seemed to be a very important thing at Hogwarts, and Tom could understand why. He didn't want anything to do with Muggles now – he wasn't anything like them.

'Professor Slughorn said that he expects I'll fall into Slytherin House,' said Tom, using Slughorn's name quite deliberately. He was pleased to see Druella's mouth fall open.

'Professor _Slughorn_? The Head of Slytherin House?' she sounded impressed. 'Do you know him?'

'Quite well,' lied Tom. 'We met up in Diagon Alley and talked at length about the Houses of Hogwarts. He very much agrees that Slytherin would be the best fit for me.' Tom remembered what Slughorn had said about Slytherin House producing great wizards and added, 'Slytherin has turned out some of the best wizards.'

At that, Druella sneered, 'And you think you're one of the best wizards, do you?'

Before Tom could challenge her, Alphard interrupted. 'The founder of Slytherin was supposed to be a great wizard. I heard he could talk to snakes.'

'Yes,' said Druella, still eyeing Tom. 'I've heard that, too. Parseltongue, they call it.'

 _Parseltongue?_ thought Tom. Dumbledore had said that the ability was rare, but not unheard of. Was this what he had meant? That the very founder of Slytherin House, one of the most important wizards in history to hear Alphard tell it now, had been able to talk to snakes, just like Tom?

Just then, with a loud whistle, the train began to move and Tom looked out the window with Druella and Alphard to watch as they left the Station behind. Pretty soon, they were moving through the countryside and Tom realized he didn't really know where Hogwarts was.

Druella seemed to have come to the same conclusion because she said, 'I've heard that Hogwarts is in the mountains. Somewhere Muggles can't get to.'

Alphard nodded. 'My sister's in second-year now, and she says there is a great big lake at the base of the castle, and a huge forest they call the Dark Forest. It's supposed to be filled with all kinds of dark creatures.'

Tom, who was still thinking about being a Parseltongue, blurted out, 'Like a Basilisk?'

Druella scoffed. 'A what?'

'It's a huge serpent,' said Tom, glad to have found something he knew that Druella didn't. 'Their stare can kill, and they're huge.'

Alphard paused and said, 'I don't think Walburga ever mentioned anything like that. She said there are werewolves, though,' he added hopefully, as though he'd like nothing better than to meet one.

Tom stared out the window for most of the journey and tried to ignore Alphard and Druella. He watched as the countryside turned into forests and then finally into mountains. Based on what Druella had said about Hogwarts being in the mountains, Tom assumed they must be getting close. They changed into their robes (Druella left them momentarily), and returned clutching what looked to be a newspaper, only the picture at the front was moving like a silent film. Tom had seen one once, it had looked just like that. The title of the article read, " _GRINDELWALD THREAT GROWS_ ". The moving picture appeared to show a burning village with a shadowy figure walking through the wreckage. Tom watched as the silhouette of a man stepped out into the firelight, which illuminated his face briefly. He was a young man and handsome, with golden hair. His face was impassive for the brief moment in which the fire illuminated it, and then it was gone, and the man stepped back into the shadows.

'Is that the Daily Prophet?' asked Alphard, leaning over to see.

'No,' said Druella sarcastically, folding it in half and resting it on her lap so that the article faced up. " _The Daily Prophet_ " was written across the top.

'Grindelwald?' breathed Alphard as he read the heading. 'I've read about him, a bit. He wants to govern the Muggles, place them under our rule. My father thinks he's got the right idea.'

Tom leaned forward to watch the photograph again, waiting for the moment where Grindelwald would step into the light again.

'He's a Dark Wizard,' said Alphard. 'But he's abroad, somewhere in the east. We don't have to worry about him. Not yet, anyway.'

'We don't have to worry about him at all,' said Druella, not looking up from the paper she was now bent over. 'We're pure-bloods, and he wants to govern the Muggles and make wizards supreme. Why would we worry about him?' She scanned the article again. 'It says here he's gathering an army of followers. His army's razed a Muggle town. Turned them into Inferi.'

'Inferiuses?' said Alphard, half in horror half in awe.

'Inferi,' corrected Druella dryly, consulting the article again. 'Dead people, who've been raised by Dark Magic?' She said this in a tone that implied that this was all very obvious, though Tom sensed that she knew a lot less about these Inferi than she was letting on and that most of her information was coming from the article. 'They obey only their Master –'

'I know what Inferiuses are!' said Alphard hotly.

Tom was about to ask to see the paper so he could read the article and confirm his suspicions about Druella's source of information, but Alphard suddenly jumped out of his seat and pressed his face and hands against the window.

'Look!' he exclaimed. 'Hogwarts!'

Tom scrambled over to the window to look at the castle. They were passing it on the train and seemed to be descending a mountain. Soon Hogwarts would be lost to view, but for now Tom could see it, and it was magnificent.

Night had settled over the castle by now, and so the hundreds of windows lit up the distant sky like stars. Tom could see high turrets and towers that jutted up out of a vast castle, much like the mountains and the valleys they had seen earlier. From here, Tom could just make out the shimmering surface of the lake that Alphard had mentioned at the base of the cliffs that Hogwarts rested upon. Tom stared at it until they went too far down and the castle was lost to his view, replaced by more mountains and rocks as they wound their way downwards and towards the castle. When it was gone, Tom could only smile at what awaited him there, thinking of his bright future as the greatest wizard of all time.

 _Notes From the Author: Firstly, I just want to thank those who have read this far. I hope you are enjoying yourself. If you are, please leave a review. If you have comments, corrections, suggestions even, leave a review and I will respond to you. This is a labour of love, and I love writing, particularly writing this story, but it's nice to know that other people care, too. Now, enough of all that!_ _Finally, we are at Hogwarts! Now the real magic can begin. This Chapter was a bit difficult to do, because I had to really, really, really research who would have been going to Hogwarts around the same time as Tom Riddle, and it was harder than I thought. It turns out the Black family tree is very complicated. Lucretia's parents (Melania Macmillan and Arcturus Black III) were easy enough to establish (Arcturus' clear pure-blood mania should have been apparent, but I made sure that Melania, a Macmillan, was a bit more tolerant, though no doubt the prejudices at the time were still instilled in her, she's just not as, you know, rude). Alphard Black's date of birth (and therefore his first year at Hogwarts) are not confirmed, but I chose to put him at the same age as Tom, since it seems to fit. Some sharp-eyed readers may have noticed that Alphard Black was Sirius' Uncle, the one who left him gold on his deathbed, and was then blasted off the family tree by his sister, Walburga (incidentally, Sirius' mother). Walburga's birthday (and therefore first year at Hogwarts) were confirmed, and so I've worked from there. Other characters who I have confirmed as being at Hogwarts at the same time as Tom are: A Lestrange boy and an Avery boy (these two later join Tom's gang and are seen speaking with Slughorn in a memory examined by Dumbledore and Harry Potter). This Lestrange, however, not likely to be the Lestrange that Bellatrix marries (Rodolphus), but rather his unnamed father. Same goes for the Avery, elsewise the Lestranges and Averies running around in the Harry Potter novels could well be in their 70's, which seems unlikely. In the Half-Blood Prince, it is implied that at least a few of the boys in Tom's gang are older than Tom, and so I have put both Avery and Lestrange in second-year, and we will meet them shortly. Now, since the pure-blood families can be traced easier than others, I will be trying to use as many actual, confirmed characters by J.K. Rowling as I can (by that I mean, characters that have been confirmed to have existed around the time period), but many of the characters in the other Houses will likely be made up (if you have any suggestions as to confirmed students you would like to see in the Hogwarts halls, please let me know). Druella Rosier is a confirmed character of J.K. Rowling's, later marrying Walburga and Alphard's brother, Cygnus Black III (not yet of Hogwarts age). She is the mother of Andromeda Black (later Tonks), Bellatrix Black (later Lestrange) and Narcissa Black (later Malfoy). Because of this, I gave her white-blonde hair, similar to Draco Malfoy's and Narcissa's. As I mentioned, the family tree gets a bit confusing, so if there are any problems with characters not being alive yet, etc, PLEASE point them out to me so that I may make corrections. I know that I made the mistake of thinking Minerva McGonagall was in second-year at this time, and had to re-write half of this chapter as a result (she does not attend Hogwarts for the first time until two years after Tom leaves). Finally, I have introduced our subplot that kind of goes on in the background, the threat looming over the horizon, as it were (one that will grow over the course of events), a fan favourite and a personal favourite character of mine... GELLERT GRINDELWALD! This book will focus primarily on Tom, much as the Harry Potter novels focus on Harry, but Grindelwald's rise to power began around now, and ends with his defeat at the hands of Dumbledore in 1945 (Tom's final year), and was too important a piece of magical history to ignore. Plus, Grindelwald rocks._


	6. The Sorting Hat

– CHAPTER SIX –

 _The Sorting Hat_

The train came to a stop some twenty minutes later, and Tom, Alphard and Druella stood and began gathering up their things just as a voice rang throughout the train, saying, 'Please leave your belongings onboard. They will be brought up to the school separately.' Alphard shrugged at Druella and the three of them left their things and joined the line of people making to get off the train.

Everyone was dressed in their Hogwarts robes now, and the sea of black-clad students moved slowly but surely down the corridor and out onto the platform. Once his feet hit stone, Tom ducked underneath the arm of an older boy and dashed through the crowd, making to lose Alphard and Druella in the crowd. He pushed his way through the throngs of people, looking for a sight of the castle. As he looked, he saw a familiar face amidst the crowd, calling for first-years to gather around him, and Tom headed that way.

Professor Slughorn looked much the same as he had in Diagon Alley, although he'd changed his robes to be less elaborate than those Tom had seen him in previously. These were far simpler, brown and plain. Tom made his way to the front of the crowd of first-years surrounding Slughorn and waited from him to notice him.

It didn't take long. As Slughorn made eye contact with the students one by one, greeting them as they approached, his eyes met with Tom's and he smiled.

'Oho!' he boomed, stepping forwards to shake Tom's hand. 'And how are you, Tom?'

'Well, sir,' replied Tom with a smile. Over Slughorn's shoulder, he could see Druella's mouth fall open. No doubt she was realizing that Tom had not been exaggerating about being friendly with Slughorn after all.

'Good, good,' said Slughorn, looking out over the crowd for more first-years.

Tom looked too, and through the group of first-years Tom could see the rest of the school clambering into carriages arranged in a line along the edge of the platform. Once full, the carriages started off down the winding road that ascended the cliffs that Hogwarts rested on. The carriages seemed to be pulling themselves without any sort of assistance.

'Have we got all of the first-years?' Slughorn asked, counting them with his fingers. Eventually, he seemed satisfied because he beamed round at them all and said, 'Excellent. My name is Professor Slughorn. I am the Potions Master here at Hogwarts, one of the first subjects you'll learn.' He stood on the spot looking around at the students in turn. Tom looked too. Some, like him, looked confident and eager to begin, while others looked nervous and a few even looked sick. Some were even whispering to each other and ignoring Slughorn entirely, who appeared not to notice. 'Normally first-years are escorted by the Groundskeeper, Ogg, but he's apparently quite ill…' Slughorn's frown and the tone in which he said this made Tom think that perhaps Slughorn didn't really believe this "Ogg" was ill at all. 'Well, no matter. I daresay we should be off,' said Slughorn. 'We don't want to be late for the Sorting.'

Slughorn started off down a narrow, winding path that led down to the banks of the lake, and the students followed. They walked only for a few minutes before coming to the shore of the lake, where several small boats rested against the pebbly shore.

'No more than four to a boat, I'd say,' Slughorn judged. 'Tom! Why don't you ride across with me?'

Tom grinned and climbed into the boat with Slughorn, who sat at the front, and were quickly joined by Alphard and Druella, who began talking to Tom as though they were the best of friends, no doubt trying to cozy up to Slughorn as Tom had.

'Right,' said Slughorn, checking to see that everyone had found a boat. 'Everyone in? Good.' He raised is wand high above his head like a touch and cried, 'Forward!'

And the boats started forward in unison across the shimmering surface of the lake. The journey passed in relative comfort until a girl a few boats to Tom's right screamed. Tom looked just in time to see a very large tentacle sink beneath the waves and splash some of the students in the boats closest to it.

Slughorn, however, merely laughed. 'Oh not to worry dear girl, not to worry. That's just the Giant Squid. Likes to greet the first-years as they cross.'

Even through the darkness Tom could see that the girl was not convinced and she kept eyeing the surface of the lake warily, moving into the very center of the boat, as far away from the water as possible. Tom wasn't too worried about the Giant Squid (for it seemed harmless enough), but he nevertheless turned to Slughorn to distract himself, only to find that Slughorn himself looked a bit queasy, as though he were as ill as Ogg claimed to be.

'Are you all right, sir?' asked Tom, adding a small layer of concern to his question.

Slughorn smiled weakly. 'Don't miss a thing do you, Tom?' The compliment pleased Tom, and looked at Slughorn with polite concern until he said more. 'Well, if truth be told… I'm not overly fond of boats. Tend to make me a bit seasick, and these boats are more rickety than that wretched man Ogg would have had me believe.'

'Ogg?' said Tom. 'The Groundskeeper you mentioned earlier, sir?'

'Yes, he normally ferries the first-years across, but as I say he's ill and wasn't feeling up to it…' Again, there was something in Slughorn's tone that made Tom think that Slughorn didn't exactly believe this.

'You don't think that's the case, Professor?'

'I'd wager he's drunk, as usual,' said Slughorn, looking out over the water with a kind of pained expression. Then he seemed to realize what he'd said and he turned back to Tom. 'Ah… But let's keep that between us, shall we, Tom?'

'Of course, sir.'

'You're a good lad.'

The rest of the journey passed in silence, as Slughorn looked a bit too ill to speak. They came upon the mouth of a large cavern and Tom had to duck the low hanging vines as they entered. After that, they continued down a long, winding underground river with rough stone walls.

'Nearly there,' Slughorn called out, his voice echoing off the rocks.

'Will the Sorting take place immediately, sir?'

'Mmm?' murmured Slughorn, who had reached very carefully out of the boat and plucked the leaves off of a strange looking plant hanging from the ceiling and was examining them in the light of his wand. 'Oh, yes. Before the start-of-term feast.' Tom watched as Slughorn pocketed the leaves, looking slightly more cheerful.

They reached the end of their destination, which looked to be a kind of underground dock. Everyone clambered out of their boats and gathered around Slughorn, who led them through a small passage of rock and up a cobblestone road to the castle itself. They stopped at a large, oaken door which Slughorn opened with a wave of his wand, and everyone filed into the Entrance Hall.

It was the largest room Tom had ever seen, and he was fairly certain the whole orphanage could have fit squarely in the center of it and still left room to move about. He spied suits of armour of varying sizes – some the size of a man, and yet others stood tens of feet high, towering over them all. The stone ceiling was so high up that Tom was almost unable to see the top. The walls were hung with many old tapestries and portraits (most of whom were looking down curiously at the group of first-years, waving and smiling all the while) and beside those were hundreds of torches that illuminated the Entrance Hall.

Tom expected them to head through the enormous doors at the end of the Entrance Hall, but Slughorn led them out of the Hall and into a small chamber just off to the side which was empty but for a man that Tom recognized immediately as Professor Dumbledore. He was dressed in robes of bright purple with a pointed wizard's hat atop his head to match. His long beard was tucked into his belt.

Tom and the rest of the first-years all filed in and Slughorn strode right up to Dumbledore and said, 'The first-years, Albus.'

'Thank you Horace,' replied Dumbledore quietly, turning to look at them all.

'I shall meet you in the Great Hall, then.'

And Slughorn turned and left, giving Tom a passing wink as he went that Tom was sure Dumbledore had not missed.

'Welcome,' said Dumbledore, 'to Hogwarts. Here you will learn not only to use magic, but to control it.' Tom recalled that Dumbledore had said exactly the same thing to him when he'd come to the orphanage to tell him he was a wizard. 'Hogwarts remains a very distinguished school of magical learning,' continued Dumbledore, 'and one of the finest magical institutions in the world.' He spoke very quietly, but everyone was listening attentively. Unlike Slughorn, Dumbledore seemed to be able to keep the students' attention without exception. 'The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before that, you are to be Sorted into your Houses.

'This is an especially important Ceremony because while you are here, your House will serve as a kind of family. You will learn, dine and sleep with your Housemates, and each House has its own cherished histories and customs, to which you eventually become a part of.

'There are four Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. You need not worry about choosing a House that is worthy or better than the others,' said Dumbledore. 'Each House is considered as an equal. Four parts to form the whole that is Hogwarts.'

At these words, whispers broke out. No doubt the students were discussing which House they expected to be in, despite Dumbledore's advice.

'Silence,' said Dumbledore. He did not sound angry. In fact, he was as calm and collected as ever, and yet the effect was immediate, and the whispers died. 'Students who distinguish themselves will earn points for their House. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, but be warned: any wrongdoing, mischief or rule-breaking, impossible as it may seem to avoid, will result in your losing points for your House.

'Now,' said Dumbledore brightly, a smile poking out from beneath his great beard, 'I daresay that the time is ripe. Headmaster Dippet and the rest of the school are waiting.' And with a grace and speed at odds with his wizened appearance, Dumbledore swiftly walked the length of the room and guided them back into the Entrance Hall. The group approached the magnificent and ornate oaken doors that Tom had noticed earlier, which opened on their own, and they all moved forwards into the Great Hall.

Tom was immediately struck by how bright the Great Hall was. It was lit by thousands of candles that floated high above everyone's heads. Beyond those, Tom could see the starry night sky. It looked as though there was no ceiling at all to the Great Hall, though Tom could not feel a draft. In fact, he felt nothing but warmth from the fires that were lit around the outside of the room. The starry night sky reflected in the ceiling fascinated him, and Tom was so engrossed with it as they walked that he nearly collided with Alphard ahead of him.

As they walked along the Great Hall, they passed between four very long tables at which the rest of the school were already sitting. The tables themselves were filled with gold plates and goblets, all of which were empty. As Tom looked ahead, he could see a similar table arranged on a raised pedestal at the end of the Hall where all of the teachers were sitting. Slughorn made eye contact with him and waved jovially, to which Tom smiled in return.

It was to the open space in the Great Hall that was in front of this table that Professor Dumbledore led them to. They all crowded around a small wooden stool upon which a very old looking, brown pointed wizard's hat rested. Once they were assembled, Dumbledore took a step back and looked down at the hat as though waiting for something. Tom looked too and he saw that the rest of the school and all of the teachers were looking at it as well, though it wasn't apparent why until a great rip appeared close to the brim and opened like a wide, gaping mouth and began to sing:

' _Oh, I may look tattered_

 _I may look torn_

 _You might think I look battered,_

 _You might think I'm just worn._

 _Yes, I've counted many years_

 _And I've been Sorting all along._

 _So if you open up your ears,_

 _I'll tell you where you belong._

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,_

 _And I'll put you in your place._

 _I'll do it right, I'll do it quick,_

 _And I'll do it with good grace._

 _You could be off to Gryffindor_

 _Who takes the brave at heart_

 _With daring, nerve and chivalry,_

 _Those Gryffindors play their part._

 _Or you could be going to Ravenclaw,_

 _Who value wit and charm!_

 _With clever lads and sharper ladies,_

 _Learning arm-in-arm._

 _And yet perhaps it will be Hufflepuff_

 _Who are honest, loyal and true_

 _A better friend you'll never find,_

 _But that's between me and you!_

 _And finally there's Slytherin_

 _Ambitious, cunning and sly_

 _They're very quick and very smart_

 _You'll like them as your ally!_

 _So step forward, step up!_

 _Come and put me on your head!_

 _I'll put you where you ought to be,_

 _And you'll not have been misled.'_

There was a great smattering of applause from students and staff at the conclusion of the hat's song, who was now bowing to each of the four House tables in turn, and then finally to Dumbledore himself. Then, with a slight quiver, the mouth disappeared and the Sorting Hat resembled nothing more than an old, fraying hat again. Dumbledore then stepped forward with a long list of names upon a piece of parchment (which appeared from nowhere), and said, 'When I call your name, you will step forward and place the Sorting Hat atop your head, who will then Sort you into your Houses.

'Abbott, Mary!' Dumbledore called out.

Tom watched as a rather plump, nervous looking girl with blonde hair stepped forward. Tom recognized her as the girl who'd screamed when the Giant Squid had surfaced. Her hair was still a bit wet and clung to her forehead in places. She approached the stool gingerly and sat down, and Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on her head gently. There was a pause, and then –

'HUFFLEPUFF!' shouted the hat.

Mary Abbott clambered down off the stool as quick as she could and ran down to join the cheering Hufflepuffs at the table farthest from Tom. She looked very relieved to be out of the whole school's eye. Tom shifted his gaze from the hat who was now Sorting Bagnold, Millicent (Ravenclaw!), and scanned the teacher's table. He saw Professor Slughorn, who was not looking his way, but was rather watching the Sorting. Beside that, a wizened wizard with a grey beard sat in a chair much more elaborately wrought than the others the rest of the teacher's sat on. That, and the fact that the chair was in the very centre of the table led Tom to believe that this man was the Headmaster whom Dumbledore had called Dippet. Beside him was an empty chair, which Tom assumed was meant to be Dumbledore's. Tom spied a very small wizard who was sitting on a pile of books in order to reach the tabletop, a balding, pudgy sort of man sitting beside him, a slender, wiry sort of witch with dark hair and a sharp nose, and what looked to Tom to be a ghost.

'Black, Alphard,' Tom heard Dumbledore call.

Tom watched as Alphard stepped forward to sit on the stool as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. There was another pause, though this one was shorter than the others, and then the Sorting Hat cried out:

'SLYTHERIN!'

Alphard grinned and ran to join the Slytherin table, who cheered and clapped him on the back.

Next up were Marcus Farwell ('Hufflepuff!'), Betty Fawley ('Ravenclaw!'), Edmund Flint ('Slytherin!'), and Elizabeth Greengrass ('Slytherin!'). The Sorting was moving smoothly, though Tom was growing bored. The process didn't seem to change much from student to student, and Tom was growing anxious for his turn, which wasn't for a while, "Riddle" likely being one of the last.

'Potter, Fleamont,' called out Dumbledore.

And Tom watched as a boy about his height, with sandy brown hair that stuck up at the back, walked forwards to be Sorted. After a moment, the Sorting Hat cried, 'GRYFFINDOR!' and Fleamont Potter ran down to join the Gryffindor table. After him came Prewett, Euphemia, who joined him as a Gryffindor.

The Sorting continued at a steady pace until finally Tom's name was called.

'Riddle, Tom!'

Tom stepped forward and sat down on the stool, ready. The idea that he would be placed anywhere but Slytherin after what he had learned on the train was laughable. Slytherin's very founder had been a Parseltongue, just as Tom was. There was nowhere that Tom belonged as much as Slytherin House. Tom was certain of it.

And sure enough, the Sorting Hat had barely grazed his head when he heard the hat cry, 'SLYTHERIN!'

Grinning broadly, Tom stood up from the chair and jogged over to the Slytherin table, joining Alphard and the rest. The Slytherin's cheered and clapped his back and shook his hand, unknowingly inviting the very best among them into their ranks. Tom glanced down the length of the table and saw common faces smiling and cheering, nothing but ordinary. He, Tom Riddle, would prove himself to be the best among them.

Druella soon joined Alphard and Tom as a Slytherin, and after her were only a few more people to be Sorted, so Tom waited amongst the rest of Slytherin House, though he didn't cheer with them when 'Rosier, Eugene' joined them as a Slytherin.

'That's my cousin,' Tom heard Druella say to Alphard.

And finally, the Sorting was concluded when 'Selwyn, Anna' became a Ravenclaw. Dumbledore rolled up the long list of names and vanished them into thin air with a wave of his wand, then swept up the Sorting hat and stool as the Headmaster rose from his chair to speak.

'Welcome back,' said Headmaster Dippet in a clear, booming voice that echoed around the hall. It was difficult to determine whether this was due to some kind of magic or if the man's powerful voice merely echoed off of the walls naturally. 'And to our first-years, simply _welcome_. Now that the Sorting is complete, the start-of-term feast can commence.' There was some cheering from some of the students at this until the Headmaster said, 'That is, once I have finished my speech.' Then he paused and cleared his throat as though he were going to say something, but the silence stretched on for about a minute before the man said, 'Alas, it seems I have forgotten those ever-important words which I had set out to impress upon you all.' The edges of the Headmaster's lips twitched as though he were smiling beneath his beard. 'And so, all I have to say is this: let the feast… commence!'

He clapped his hands once just as the polite laughter from students and staff reached its high, and then suddenly the plate in front of Tom was full of food – pork chops and all kinds of vegetables, roast chicken. Down the length of the table was even more food – potatoes (made in every way possible, it seemed to Tom), carrots and peas, sausages, roast beef, as well as various pastries that Tom didn't recognize, but looked to him to be distinctly wizardish.

Tom had never eaten half so well in all his years.

As he ate, conversations sprung up around him, and Tom was determined to listen in. Alphard was speaking to Druella, who sat across from them, about the Sacred Twenty-Eight again. An older boy who was sitting on Tom's right was speaking to another boy across the table.

'Did you read the Prophet today, Dolohov?' asked the boy sitting beside Tom. He had a badge pinned to his robes with the Hogwarts crest on it. There was an ornate silver "P" overtop of the Slytherin symbol of a snake.

'Grindelwald?' asked the other boy as he chewed. He looked to be a couple years younger than the first boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen. 'Word is he's getting stronger. Assembling an army of followers.'

'And Inferi!' someone else added from further down the table.

Dolohov shrugged. 'Ministry's not done much to stop him. What do you think, Roy?'

'Well,' said the boy with the badge, Roy. 'He's pretty far East. Besides, what have we to fear from the likes of someone who wants to put wizards at the top?'

The older boy's views seemed to echo that of Druella's from earlier on the train. Tom didn't know much about Grindelwald, but from what he'd heard from Druella, Grindelwald believed that wizards were better than Muggles, and they ought to be ruled as such.

'My father works at the Ministry,' said a girl that looked to be about the same age as Dolohov, whom she was sitting beside. 'He says that ol' Fawley's never taken Grindelwald seriously, and now he's regretting it. They're calling for his resignation.'

The boy beside Tom scoffed. 'And who will they have replace him? Fawley's been Minister nearly fifteen years. Who else has that kind of experience, Jean?'

But the girl, Jean, just shrugged. 'Not sure, but most aren't too happy with him, to hear my father tell it.' She took a bite of roast beef and chewed thoughtfully. 'Whoever winds up Minister will have a tough job of it, though. The Muggles are at each other's throats again. There's talk of another war, and that's always hard.'

'Hard to win?' asked Dolohov.

But the girl shook her head. 'Hard to keep the secret. Muggles blowing each other to bits, tearing up the ground and burning towns and cities…'

'Muggle wars don't mean anything to wizards,' said Roy coldly.

'There's talk that this one might,' persisted the girl. 'Grindelwald's causing all kinds of chaos already. Think what he could get up to in all the commotion of a Muggle war.'

Tom listened, thoughtful. The last war had concluded well before he'd been born, but the scars it had left behind were there for all to see. Wounded soldiers and veterans, the remnants of barracks' and barricades, bomb shelters, even. Tom thought of the tramp outside the Leaky Cauldron whom he'd knocked over, the one missing a leg and half an arm.

'Think what he could accomplish, more like,' said Roy, jabbing the chicken on his plate so forcefully it was as though he were trying to kill it all over again.

'He's got the right idea, I'd say,' allowed Jean. 'But murdering Muggles and wizards who don't agree with you isn't going to help. Even if Grindelwald was successful and overthrew the Ministry, what then? He'd be Minister for Magic?'

'Why not?' challenged Dolohov.

'Because anyone who's murdered so easily isn't about to win himself too many followers,' said Jean. 'The Magical Community –'

'Will accept him, or be cast aside,' said Roy dismissively, taking a long drink from his goblet.

Jean looked as though she might argue, but at that moment the Headmaster stood up and called for attention.

'Some final notices,' boomed the Headmaster, his voice echoing around the Great Hall just as before, 'before we head up to bed. Firstly, the Dark Forest at the edge of grounds remains forbidden to all students. It does not do well to wander where dangerous creatures roam, and there are many within the forest who will protect their home most fiercely.

'Secondly, I would like to introduce you to a new member of staff: Professor Flitwick, who will be filling the position of Charms teacher, and head of Ravenclaw House.'

The small wizard sitting on a pile of books that Tom had noticed earlier stood up awkwardly and bowed and waved to a great amount of applause from the Ravenclaw table before sitting back down.

'And lastly, some words of wisdom.' The Headmaster's tone changed to a more serious one. 'Many of you will of course be aware that a certain Dark Wizard named Gellert Grindelwald is causing quite a stir in the East.' Murmurs broke out amongst the tables as the students whispered to one another about what they had heard, or suspected, of Grindelwald. Tom even saw a few of the teachers muttering to each other, although he noticed Professor Dumbledore's face, sitting beside the Headmaster, remained impassive. Professor Dippet allowed the mutterings to subside before continuing. 'His anti-Muggle agenda is escalating, and no doubt each of you carry your own individual views on the matter.' At this, his eyes swiveled over almost imperceptibly to the Slytherin table. 'As such, discussion of the matter amongst staff or student is prohibited. Fear and uncertainty can cut as deeply as any sword, and in discussing and giving influence to his views and ambitions, we can only harm ourselves.

'Thank you,' finished the Headmaster. 'And now, I believe it is time for bed. Prefects will escort the first-years to their respective common rooms and dormitories. Off with you!'

There was a great amount of benches scraping against the stone floor as everyone rose out of their seats and made for the door. Roy it turned out, wasone of the Slytherin Prefects. No doubt the "P" on his badge that Tom had noticed earlier stood for such.

Roy called for the first-years to follow him out into the Entrance Hall, and they joined the queue of people moving towards the door. Tom watched as the Gryffindors followed their Prefects up a set of marble stairs just outside the Great Hall and out of sight, while Roy and another girl Prefect led them downwards.

'These are the Dungeons,' Roy called out from the head of the column. 'The Slytherin common room is down here, along with many of your Potions classrooms. This way.'

Roy turned left, and it became apparent very quickly that the Dungeons were a huge, sprawling labyrinth that seemed to stretch the entire length of the school. Roy, as if he could read Tom's mind said, 'The Dungeons span the length of the school. If you know your way around, you can get almost anywhere from down here.'

The group stopped at a stretch of stone wall that looked no different than the rest of them. 'This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room,' Roy said. 'Try not to get lost down here. There's always one or two. The Caretaker, Pringle, always finds them eventually, though. Usually you can hear their screams for a couple of days.'

A few of the first-years looked stricken, but Tom understood corporal punishment, though they'd never had it at the orphanage.

'You can try and use this torch as an identifier,' said Roy, pointing to a torch to his left that looked exactly like the rest of the torches that lined the damp dungeon walls. 'Or you can wait out here freezing until someone finds you. You need only to use the password to enter.' Roy stepped forwards so that he was only a few inches away from the wall and said in a clear voice, ' _Grindelwald_.'

At the word, a concealed stone door slid open and everyone filed through. Tom wondered who set the password, since he rather doubted it had been Headmaster Dippet.

Tom found himself entering into a long underground room where round, greenish lamps hung on chains from a low ceiling, emitting a greenish glow that set the whole room alight. Green and silver seemed the prevailing colours of House Slytherin, and there were banners depicting Slytherin's snake everywhere you looked. Green armchairs surrounded a roaring fire that crackled in an elaborately carved mantelpiece in the shape of two snakes entwined together.

Roy pointed towards two sets of staircases that led upwards. 'Boys on the left, girls on the right. Your dormitories are divided by year. First-years will be the first floor, second years the second floor, and so on.' He looked a bit bored. 'That's everything.'

One of the girls asked about a bathroom, but Roy was already moving away to talk to some of his friends sitting by the fire. The female Prefect pointed to a small door directly beside the staircase to the girl's dormitory. Tom noticed an identical door beside the boy's staircase.

Alphard turned to Tom and yawned, saying, 'I think I'm,' he yawned again, 'going up to bed...'

'You go,' said Tom, reaching into his pocket to feel for his wand. He was anxious to find a quiet corner and begin practicing some spells. 'I'll be up later.'

Alphard shrugged and ascended the stairs, leaving Tom and only a few others down in the common room. Tom walked over to an empty seat away from everyone else and withdrew his wand. On the small table in front of him was a lamp that emitted the same greenish glow as those hanging above. Tom had read about the spell required to make objects levitate in one of his spellbooks and memorized it already.

' _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ' said Tom quietly, pointing his wand at the lamp. The lamp rose two feet in the air, floating in place, rather similar to the way Tom had already managed to make objects fly. Tom smirked. He'd been levitating things for years now, he hadn't really thought it would be difficult. He was about to try some of the other spells he'd read about when an older boy approached him from behind.

'That's not bad,' he said approvingly. 'For a first-year.'

Tom turned. It was Roy, the Prefect.

'Of course,' continued Roy smugly, 'levitation is kids' stuff. It's not that impressive, I can levitate loads of things, I –'

But Tom didn't find out what other things Roy could do, because at that moment the lamp, still floating in the air, zoomed straight for his head and hit him square in the forehead, causing him to stumble backwards into an armchair, which he fell over. The lamp, upon passing Roy's head, turned around abruptly and floated back to its original position, resting itself gently on the table where it had been previously. Several others looked over at the commotion, some even laughed.

'Sorry,' said Tom not looking sorry at all as he stood over Roy who was still sprawled on the floor, a small trickle of blood running down his forehead. 'Lost control of the spell…'

And without another word Tom ascended the steps to his dormitory, smiling his most dangerous smile at the look on Roy's face.

 _Notes from the Author: Finally, we are at Hogwarts! This Chapter was difficult as well, as I was trying to find students who had started in the same year as Tom, not to mention having to write a Sorting Song. It turns out that is very hard to do, and I see now why J.K. Rowling avoided doing them for every year. Again, there are some interesting tidbits of information hidden in this Chapter for those who look. For example, one of the girls Sorted (Ravenclaw!) in this Chapter is Millicent Bagnold, who would later go on to be the serving Minister of Magic at the time of Voldemort's first demise in 1980, at the hands of an infant Harry Potter. Fun fact: Bagnold defended the witches and wizards who broke the International Statute of Secrecy by partying too hard when Voldemort was first defeated with the words, 'I assert our inalienable right to party.' What a badass. Also Sorted in this Chapter, a sharp-eyed and particularly savvy Harry Potter fan may have noticed, were Harry Potter's grandparents and James Potter's parents, Fleamont Potter and Euphemia Prewett. Birthdates for either have never been given, and I thought it would add a little bit of... I don't know, substance? At any rate, it's a funny thought that Harry Potter's grandparents might've attended Hogwarts alongside the boy who later goes on to kill their only son. As for Euphemia, a last name was never given, and I determined that she fit quite well into the "Prewett" family, who, by the time of the Harry Potter novels, is said to be almost extinct. Also - the Dolohov mentioned? That'd be our very own Antonin Dolohov, Death Eater extraordinare's father, and future Death Eater himself. Fun fact! The Lestrange and Avery boys I mentioned earlier will be coming into the picture very soon. Finally, I just wanted to reiterate that some characters (like Millicent Bagnold, Fleamont Potter, etc) are confirmed characters by J.K. Rowling while some (like Roy), I've invented from my own head. As always, any concerns, questions, etc, please feel free to reach out to me._


	7. Gellert Grindelwald

– CHAPTER SEVEN –

 _Gellert Grindelwald_

The first few weeks at Hogwarts passed quickly for Tom.

They were a blur of reading, writing, learning and practicing spells, as well as exploring the castle, which Tom soon found out was much larger than he'd originally thought. There were seven floors, excluding the Dungeons, and more towers and turrets than could be counted. Navigating his way through the castle between classes was proving challenging, partly because the castle was so large and partly because the staircases moved around without warning.

He had never been so engrossed in anything else the same way he was with magic. He learned a great many things on the first day of classes alone, and he very quickly realized that the amount of theory and practice that seemed to go into even the simplest spells was staggering. Yet despite this, Tom thrived in his classes, excelling in every way. As a first-year, Tom had seven different lessons: Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, Astronomy and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

In Herbology, he learned about the many magical plants and their properties from Professor Beery, Head of Hufflepuff House. He was a kindly, very talkative man, with a stout frame and a bald patch atop his head. During their first lesson, they learned about a thorny plant that had a tendency of strangling you if you weren't paying close attention, called Devil's Snare. It was so named because if you gave it the chance it would wrap you up and constrict you to death. Professor Beery told them about the plants origins, who had discovered it, and most importantly, how to combat it. He had them practice fighting off the Devil's Snare using a combination of sunlight and fire, both of which caused the plant to screech and shrivel up back into it's pot.

Charms was taught by the tiny Professor Flitwick, the new Head of Ravenclaw House. He typically taught the class from behind a small desk, he himself being propped up on various texts, teaching them the principles of enchanting objects, and of course the levitation spell, _Wingardium Leviosa_. Tom had easily made the feather that Professor Flitwick set on his desk soar around the room, to Professor Flitwick's delight. Bored, he'd tried levitating other, heavier things, even succeeding in moving Professor Flitwick's desk across the room (with Flitwick still sitting at it). The Professor had laughed.

Professor Merrythought, a very old, feeble looking witch who had been teaching nearly fifty years, taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. She had wild, curly grey hair and sunken eyes. Despite her appearance, however, she remained very animated in classroom discussions and had vast amounts of knowledge on the subject of the Dark Arts and how to fight them. Tom was less interested in how to combat them than he was on the Dark Arts themselves. Professor Merrythought had talked about them in her first lesson, detailing the sorts of things Dark Wizards have been known for in the past, from summoning vast amounts of Inferi (which Druella had been correct in saying were animated corpses), to summoning and controlling dark creatures to do their bidding. The combative techniques for fighting the Dark Arts were far less interesting than the Dark Arts themselves, in Tom's opinion.

History of Magic was a very dull affair. It was taught by the Ghost teacher Tom had noticed during the Sorting Ceremony, Professor Binns. According to some of the older Slytherins, Professor Binns had fallen asleep in the staff room one day and died, but rather than moving on as most people did, he simply got up as a Ghost and continued teaching, if you could even call it that. At the beginning of every lesson, Professor Binns drifted through the blackboard at the front of the room and immediately began lecturing. He stood at the front of the class and read magical history from a textbook in a very monotone sort of voice right up until the bell released them. Tom had spent most of these classes reading other, more interesting volumes on magical history he'd gotten out of the library that taught him more in the span of five minutes than he thought he would ever learn from Professor Binns.

Astronomy proved to be as uninteresting to Tom as his History of Magic lessons. Every Wednesday evening at midnight, the first-years would head up to the Astronomy Tower, which was the tallest in the castle, and take notes on the positions and movements of the planets and stars. Tom failed to see how knowing Mar's position in relation to Jupiter's would increase his magical power and he considered the subject to be very wooly.

Potions had soon become one of the more interesting classes, largely due to how Professor Slughorn had begun their first lesson. He'd arranged five very different potions on a table at the front of the class, and had the class guess at the sorts of things they could do. Even Tom couldn't have guessed them all, and some of the effects had been so fantastical that it was hard to believe they were real. One was the world's deadliest poison. It had no known antidote and bubbled a sickly green colour. The second looked like liquid gold, and Slughorn said that it would make the drinker extraordinarily lucky. The third was clear as water, and would make the drinker invisible, ('Though,' Slughorn had said, 'you must always remember to take it sparingly, lest you disappear for good.'), the fourth allowed you to take the form of someone else, and was a horrible smelling potion that was the colour of mud and was just as thick, while the fifth was a purple potion that simmered lightly within its cauldron, which Slughorn said would provide the drinker with dreamless sleep – or horrible, debilitating nightmares, if you brewed it wrong.

It also became clear very quickly that Slughorn favoured Tom and a select few other students above everyone else. Most of the favourites had famous parents or grandparents and were not limited to those of Slytherin house. One of their Gryffindor classmates was the son of some famous Potioneer, though it became apparent very quickly that the necessary skills of a Potionmaker were not hereditary.

Tom was favoured, according to Slughorn, for his sheer brilliance. In their second lesson, he had produced a perfect cure for boils in half the usual time by enchanting his silver knife to cut the ingredients for him (a trick learned from one of his library textbooks), while Tom set to stirring the potion himself. Slughorn had declared his use of wandwork 'extraordinary', which pleased Tom and seemed to annoy Druella, sitting opposite him.

But easily his least favourite subject was Transfiguration. The subject itself was fascinating, and involved turning objects into other things, and at the more advanced levels, could even be used to change human beings, vanish objects from thin air, or conjure things seemingly from nothing. No, the issue with Transfiguration was that it was exclusively taught by Professor Dumbledore, and if Tom had thought that he'd forgotten what had happened at the orphanage, he was very wrong.

Dumbledore was a very able teacher, that much had to be said. His lessons were a perfect blend of theory and note taking, coupled with practical demonstrations by Dumbledore himself. There was a certain amount of wandwork required for Transfiguration, and it was Dumbledore's assurance that precise, steady hands were required to be successful in Transfiguration. Waving the wand the wrong way, he had said, could be the difference between a canary and a crocodile.

On the whole, Dumbledore seemed to treat Tom as if he were any other student. Though he excelled at Transfiguration as much, if not more so, as his other classes, Dumbledore was unlike Slughorn and the rest, and did not praise him or offer him special treatment, but merely eyed him from beneath his half-moon spectacles with a piercing look that gave Tom the impression that Dumbledore could see through him.

'Welcome to Transfiguration,' Dumbledore had said on the first day in his singularly quiet voice. He stood in front of the class in his lilac robes with his auburn beard tucked into his belt as usual. On a small table at the front of the class was a very small, brown sparrow chirping merrily. 'Transfiguration, simply put, is the art of transformation. Turning one thing,' he had said, flicking his wand in a very precise movement, 'into another.' And in a great gust of flame, the sparrow almost seemed to explode outward and take flight. Only, it was different now. It was much larger, and bright red and orange feathers shimmered as it flew, looking as much like a live fire as it was possible to be. It flew around the classroom twice, its long tailfeathers brushing the heads of the students, and came to rest very gently upon Dumbledore's shoulders. 'This is Fawkes,' said Dumbledore to the very impressed crowd. 'Fawkes is a phoenix and very rare and fascinating creatures, they are.'

From there, Dumbledore had launched into the basic theories of Transfiguration. They'd taken notes on the different schools of Transfiguration, of which there were four: Transformation, Vanishment, Conjuration and Untransfiguration, though Professor Dumbledore said that the last three wouldn't be covered until much later. Wandwork, they learned, was paramount to successful Transfiguration, and the process of turning one thing into another required very precise wand movements depending on what you were actually trying to achieve.

They practiced a wand movement for a few minutes (it looked almost like drawing a circle in mid-air, moving clockwise, with a little flick of the wrist close to the end), and Dumbledore walked around the class correcting the movements people made, or how they were holding their wands. Once he was satisfied, he waved his wand once and from a box on the front desk flew several dozen matches, which hovered over to each individual student and dropped down in front of them.

He asked that each student attempt to turn the simple match into a needle using the wand movement they'd practiced and the incantation they'd recorded earlier in the lesson. By the end, only Tom had succeeded, although Alphard swore his had gone from brown to a silver colour.

When Professor Dumbledore dismissed them, Tom began packing up his things alongside his classmates until Professor Dumbledore approached his desk and picked up what used to be Tom's match. Dumbledore looked at it for a moment and then raised the point to his finger, pricking himself and drawing a small amount blood. There was a pause, until Dumbledore said, 'Very good, Tom.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tom stiffly.

'I wonder… Do you think yourself capable of Transfiguring it back into a match?'

Tom hesitated only a moment. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how to do it, but he would never tell Dumbledore that. Alphard was standing beside him watching expectantly, and a few of his other classmates had stopped packing up to watch as well.

Tom shrugged his bag off of his shoulder and took out his wand again. He'd turned the match into a needle, surely the reverse was no more difficult? Yet Dumbledore had never told him how to reverse Transfigurations. In fact, he'd said that was advanced magic, not to be learnt until later. Was he trying to humble him?

Tom pointed his wand at the needle that Dumbledore had placed back on the desk and concentrated. He was reverting an object back to its original form, doing the opposite of what he had just done, so Tom, pushed by some unknown instinct, performed the same wand movement with which he had succeeded in turning the match into a needle, but in reverse.

He waved his wand in a counter-clockwise circle and spoke the incantation, flicking his wand just as Dumbledore had taught them. There was a faint shimmer that went through the air, almost like a heat wave that you saw on a very hot summer day, and Tom watched as the needle went from silver to brown, from sharp at the end to bulbous and red, like the match it had been before.

Wordlessly, Dumbledore reached down and picked up the match, holding it up in front of his face for inspection. Then, in a movement so quick Tom almost couldn't follow it, Dumbledore dragged the head of the match across the tabletop, igniting it. Everyone watched as Dumbledore held it up in front of his face again, eyeing it very intently as the flames licked down the wood until they were almost at Dumbledore's fingers. Then he blew it out.

'You have good instincts, Tom,' said Dumbledore after a moment. 'Reversing the movement of the wand will work with simple Transfigurations such as these, though it can be more difficult for the undisciplined. I am impressed.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tom, nodding. 'I thought doing the opposite would put it back.'

'You were quite right. We will be covering the reversal of this type of Transfiguration in next weeks' class.' He looked out at the rest of the students who had remained and said, 'That will be everything. No homework today, I would imagine you've received quite enough already.'

As Transfiguration had been the last class of the first day, Professor Dumbledore could not have been more right. Professor Beery had assigned them a foot and a half for Herbology, Professor Binns had asked for a foot on one of the Goblin wars, and Professor Merrythought had them begin researching the origins of defensive magic, with the assurance that practical demonstrations would be in the next lesson.

Tom had breezed through his essays and practical lessons and begun taking up more difficult challenges in his spare time. Through use of vacant classrooms, Tom had been able to practice more advanced magic than was being taught in his lessons. He'd removed as many spellbooks from the library as the Librarian, Ms Smythe, allowed. Ms Smythe was strict and very protective of her books and Tom had been reminded of Mrs Cole with the way she had scrutinized him when he'd asked for spellbooks beyond his level. She'd complied, of course, but when he'd wandered too close to the Restricted Section, which was kept locked at all times, she had saw fit to move him to the other end of the library.

But Tom wasn't only interested in spellbooks. He'd asked Ms Smythe if there were any books detailing wizarding families, hoping to trace his own ancestry through his father's line. Though Ms Smythe had fetched the books for him, Tom could find no mention of his father Tom Riddle within them. It was infuriating. He knew what he was to be looking for, but not where to look. He could not be certain what kind of wizard his father had been, and so did not know where to begin.

Perhaps he ought to search through records of old Potions awards? Yet that seemed unlikely, as Professor Slughorn did not remember teaching a Riddle, he had said as much in Diagon Alley. Perhaps he could check publications, old essays catalogued in the depths of the library? One thing Tom was certain of however, was that if he was ever going to find out about his father, it was going to take a long time.

However, that wasn't Tom's only problem. He also had to contend with Alphard and Druella's constant presence, who seemed intent on following him around and sitting beside him in classes. No doubt they were hoping to pick up tips to impress the teachers, latching onto to Tom like parasites, but Tom soon found that they had their uses. Alphard was quite knowledgeable when you got him talking, although he was very timid when asked questions by teachers. Since he'd grown up in the wizarding world, he had a lot of knowledge that Tom was interested in. They spent a few hours in the Slytherin common room each night where Tom asked him all manner of questions. Alphard was more than happy to talk without end.

Druella came from a wizarding family as well, and shared in Alphard's pure-blood views. She was clever and shrewd, and very suspicious. Her family, the Rosiers, was almost as large as the Blacks, and Druella had several cousins who were in higher years, all who shared her pure-blood views. In fact, most of Slytherin House seemed to share the idea of pure-blood supremacy, which Tom learned was a distinguishing factor of the House. Apparently the founder, Salazar Slytherin, had always held the belief that only pure-bloods ought to be taught at Hogwarts, for fear that Muggle-borns and Half-Bloods would deteriorate the wizarding lines.

Tom maintained that he was a pure-blooded orphan, though he couldn't be certain that was true. It was likely that his mother had been a Muggle since she'd died giving birth to him, which was a very mundane thing. Surely a witch could have prevented such? Tom's father had to have been the magical parent, Tom was sure of it, but no mention of him appeared in the books in the library. Perhaps the Riddle line was simply less distinguished than that of Black or Rosier. The thought of it angered him.

And then of course there was Roy, who was still holding a grudge for what had happened that very first night in Slytherin common room. Tom sensed that very soon it would come to a confrontation between the two of them, and he was determined to come out on top.

Roy kept a gang of thugs with him at all times. Most were in fifth-year, like him, though a few were younger. Tom had taken particular notice of two second-years who hung around Roy and his gang – Avery and Lestrange. Avery was tall, pale and blonde with sharp features and a sneering smile. He was almost always laughing or smiling, as though he were part of some secret joke that the rest of the world wasn't privy to. The Lestrange boy was quieter, and much larger. Though only a year older, he was taller even than Tom, with thick arms and a broad chest, he struck an imposing figure even at twelve.

Tom would watch them in the common room from afar, looking for weak links in the chain that made up Roy's gang. Avery and Lestrange, though part of the gang for a certainty, were often left out, likely due to their age. At fifteen, most of the boys in Roy's gang had little enough in common with them, and Avery and Lestrange only seemed to gravitate towards Roy for lack of a better leader. Tom was determined to be that leader very soon.

As it was now, Tom sat in an armchair by the fire, reading a spare textbook out of the library that was typically used in fifth year Defense Against the Dark Arts. Tom was reading about the Unforgivable Curses when Alphard sat down beside him, leaning over to see what he was reading.

'Whoa,' he said half impressed and half disgusted. 'Look at those pictures!'

'That one's the Cruciatus Cruse,' said Tom, pointing at the image which Alphard was looking at. It showed a wizard lying on his back, clearly screaming in agony as another wizard pointed their wand at him. 'Inflicts pain. There's also _Imperio_ , which offers control of a person, and _Avada Kedavra_ , the killing curse.'

Alphard looked a bit uncomfortable. 'Where did you get that?'

'The library. I'm reading it for Defense Against the Dark Arts. These are some of the darkest spells out there.'

Tom snapped the book shut before Alphard could say anything else and stowed it away in his bag beside the armchair. The Avery boy had strode over with Lestrange and sat down in the armchairs opposite Tom.

'I've been meaning to talk to you,' said Avery, smiling and offering Tom his hand, which he took. 'Hell of a thing you did to Roy first day.'

Lestrange nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. His hair was dark and long, falling into his eyes, while Avery's blonde locks were kept short and swept to one side. Avery had a casual air about him, whilst Lestrange was stiff.

'Roy's pretty angry,' continued Avery. 'He keeps talking about getting back at you.'

'He is welcome to try,' sneered Tom. 'There are plenty more lamps.'

'You'll need more than lamps, I'd say. Roy's big and dumb, and no great shakes at magic, but I've seen him do some things pretty scary things with his fists.'

Tom said nothing and merely stared into the fire. He wasn't afraid of Roy. This was Hogwarts, a school of magic, and it was here that magic ruled, not who was biggest or toughest. Sure, Roy was much larger than him, older even, but Tom was confident that despite his age, he was the better at magic. He had watched from afar as Roy struggled when practicing magic in the common room, and Tom was certain that his boasting about how impressive he was with magic was just for the benefit of the gaggle of girls who seemed to follow his gang around.

'Why do you hang around him, then?' Alphard asked.

But Avery merely shrugged. 'The other boys in our year are idiots,' he said. 'And that's saying something, since Lestrange can scarcely spell his own name.'

Lestrange turned red at this and bristled, flexing his arms.

'Roy's big and he's dumb, but he's got Slytherin House in his pocket for now,' said Avery. 'It's better to be in the gang than outside of it.' Avery turned from Alphard and looked at Tom, who was still staring intently at the fire. 'Just ask Tom here, he's got a target on his back already, and he's not even out of first-year.'

But finally, Tom had heard enough. He rounded on Avery, his face contorted in anger and said, 'I am not afraid of _Roy_ , and very soon, you'll see why.'

Avery only sniggered in response but Alphard looked shocked. 'Tom!' he said nervously. 'You can't really think to – I mean, Roy's in _fifth year_.'

Tom glanced across the common room where Roy was sitting, surrounded by his gang and a few girls. Tom had taken an interest in a few of the gang members in addition to Avery and Lestrange. There was Walter Rosier, a distant cousin of Druella's, whom Tom took to be Roy's best friend of the group. Then there was an Albert Crabbe, a fifth-year as large as he was stupid (and he was very large), and Abraxas Malfoy, a very smug and pompous sixth-year who lorded over any of the younger Slytherins.

It was through observation that Tom saw the benefits of Roy's position. As a leader, he had much influence over others, and despite his stupidity, his gang thought of him as smart and clever, obeying his orders without question, whether they were to bully, scare or trick someone mattered not – they obeyed. It was also much more difficult to be implicated in anything wrong when half the house was in your gang and the other half afraid of it. Who would dare say something had gone wrong?

Tom was determined to usurp Roy's position as gang leader, and he was confident that he could do it, but it needed to be public. The whole of Slytherin house would need to be witness to it, or else Tom would be left with an embarrassed and defeated Roy and a bunch of angry fifteen year olds. If they witnessed Roy's fall, there would be no question of coming over to Tom. The weak, the stupid and the cowardly had their uses, but they always gravitated towards the strong.

At that moment, Druella appeared from behind Tom and sat in the armchair opposite him, The Daily Prophet clutched in her hands. She was reading an article from the middle, so that the front-page news was all Tom could see.

' _GRINDELWALD ON THE MOVE'_ read the title, showing a map of Europe with a dotted red line across it, moving from east to west, stopping somewhere in Germany. Upon closer inspection, Tom saw that the dotted line was labeled ' _Grindelwald_ '.

'Are you done with that?' asked Tom, reaching a hand out to take hold of the newspaper.

Druella sighed, folding it up again. 'Yes, I suppose so. Nothing interesting, anyway.'

Tom disagreed once he scanned the article.

 _GRINDELWALD ON THE MOVE_

 _Gellert Grindelwald, self-proclaimed Dark Wizard, has left a trail of devastation and horror in the East that encompasses several different counrtries. Reports of hoards of Inferi, werewolves and even Giants amongst Grindelwald's growing army have become increasingly more common, and Grindelwald himself now appears to be moving westward._

 _Minister for Magic, Hector Fawley, has in the past declared Grindelwald a "disgruntled and maddened outcast", who would "easily be apprehended should he ever appear in Britain again". Now, however, Minister Fawley has changed his tune (many speculate this sudden change in view a final bid to retain his position, as many are calling for his resignation), denouncing Grindelwald as a threat to the security of the wizarding community at large. The Minister has called for the wizarding community to remain vigilant in their stance against the Dark Arts._

" _The Ministry of Magic is working closely with eastern Ministries to control the Grindelwald situation," Fawley said Monday, addressing reporters within the Ministry of Magic. "In the meantime, we urge the magical community to report any suspicious activity to the Ministry at once."_

 _While Grindelwald remains in eastern Europe for now, experts agree that this is likely only temporary while he gathers himself followers in the east (who have always had an affinity for the darker aspects of magic through magical institutions such as Durmstrang Institute), and that his true goal of toppling European Ministries will not be complete until he returns to Britain._

 _For an excerpt from Elsabeth Vulchanov's upcoming book_ How Gellert Grindelwald Rose to Power (A Study from Birth to the Beginnings of Revolution).

Tom, eager to hear more about the wizard who had inspired such fear and hysteria throughout Britain, turned to page 4 to continue reading. There was a picture at the top of Elsabeth Vulchanov, who appeared to be no older than twenty and very dark-haired and pretty, smiling. Tom skipped the part that talked about the author and skimmed the article until he found the excerpt he'd been promised.

 _GRINDELWALD AT DURMSTRANG_

 _Grindelwald's education at Durmstrang Institute began very much like any other boy's, although it soon became clear to both his peers and his teachers that he was extraordinary. Blessed with good looks and uncommon magical ability, Grindelwald soon distinguished himself amongst his classmates at Durmstrang, which has turned out any number of great witches and wizards. Grindelwald collected several awards and prizes over the course of his years at the school, and his teachers were very pleased with him. He showed exuberance and a great thirst for knowledge._

" _Eager," one of his teachers said of him when I visited the castle (though I cannot remember where it is – visitors must comply with memory charms in order to keep the school location a secret). "Hungry for knowledge, and aye, for power. That too, but none of us were so different when we were young. Gellert Grindelwald was no different than any other young Durmstrang boy – intelligent, confident, exceptionally skilled, and full of ideas of what it meant to be a wizard. Everyone expected great things of him."_

 _But Grindelwald's ideas of what it meant to be a wizard seemed to grow more and more sinister as he grew up. Whilst at school, Grindelwald talked of the subjugation of Muggles and the rights of Wizards. Indeed, he was so vocal about his views on this matter that one of his teachers grew profoundly uncomfortable._

" _Durmstrang has always strived to maintain it's pure-blooded roots," said the instructor, who refused to offer her name for interview, "and as such we have never allowed Muggle-born wizards admittance into our halls. Grindelwald, however, talked of taking things further. He spoke openly about revolution – bringing the Muggles to heel, forcefully if need be, and ruling them as their superiors. He said it was the right of wizards to rule the Muggles, who he deemed to be lesser humans. When I asked him what he proposed to do with those who resisted, the European Ministries of Magic, for example, he said that those who did not share his views could snap their wand in half and join the subjugated Muggles."_

 _These views are not new, however. Britain's focus on blood purity can be documented well into the 1600's following the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy, where wizards left the lives of Muggles for good. Histories documenting this time vary, but all agree that the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy was a period of high anti-Muggle sentiment, and most experts agree that the idea of blood-purity became widely popular. Wizards wanted to distance themselves from Muggles in more ways than one – safety, certainly, but it very soon became a matter of great pride to have been born solely of a wizarding line, or pure-blooded. Such prejudices have persisted well into this new century, culminating in the recent publication of_ the Pureblood Directory _by an unknown author, detailing the "Sacred Twenty-Eight" – a list of the twenty-eight true pure-blood families left in Britain._

 _Grindelwald's views on Muggle subjugation were considered extreme measures by some students and staff, but a necessity in order to preserve the purity of wizarding blood, and that everything he would do would be done "for the greater good". In fact, "for the greater good" has since become Grindelwald's rallying cry, serving as his justification for what he has wrought across Eastern Europe._

 _Despite his occasionally radical ideas, Grindelwald certainly continued to impress his peers and instructors throughout his years at Durmstrang. However, he soon began building a different sort of reputation amongst the students. Respected and feared, Grindelwald delved deep into his studies of the Dark Arts whilst at school, which, it is important to note, is not so unusual for a Durmstrang student. What was unusual was the lengthy experimentations within the depths of the castle that Grindelwald would eventually be accused of._

 _It is assumed (based on inspecting the remains of Grindelwald's experiments following his expulsion) that Grindelwald began researching methods for immortality. He likely would have been able to study such mysteries without interruption (Durmstrang students are often left to their own devices outside of class time). However, over the course of his education, a number of nasty incidents occurred that a few whispered Grindelwald had had a hand in, including the release of several dangerous creatures that, it was rumoured, Grindelwald had been experimenting on in the depths of the castle._

 _One such incident involved what Grindelwald's teacher described as a "clear violation of magical nature", when a hoard of fire-breathing pixies were released on the school, injuring several people and incinerating several ancient tapestries of great historical value. As pixies, by nature, do not possess the ability to breathe fire, it was determined that an enterprising student had been running experiments on them, possibly breeding them with other creatures._

 _The school's repute as a place more forgiving of the Dark Arts than other institutions is perhaps most telling as to the type of wizard young Grindelwald would grow to become. However, eventually even Durmstrang Institute could not turn a blind eye. After an incident involving the serious harm and near death of a fellow student, Grindelwald was expelled. There are few who can testify as to what became of him after that, for he disappears for nearly ten years, finally emerging again in the East, preaching the subjugation of Muggles._

 _During the last Muggle war (which enveloped most of Muggle Europe) there were several nasty, unexplained instances which required the services of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. These instances were attributed to the early and very grisly work of Grindelwald, who, in the commotion of a Muggle war, sought to twist the warring Muggle powers against one another, and, by effect, extend the length of the war and thus increase Muggle casualties._

 _I spoke with an employee of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes who had been present at one such instance, and who did not wish to be named._

" _It was awful," she said, his eyes glistening with tears. "Muggles from both sides had been battling for days, and Grindelwald swept down with giants – tore them all to pieces. One Muggle had survived the attack. He was just a boy and he'd hidden. When we'd got there, he described it all to us. We wiped his memory and sent him off, but I remember the look of terror on his face when he started telling us what Grindelwald had done."_

 _Several other incidents throughout the Muggle war required the services of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, though they could never be satisfactorily linked to Grindelwald (one Muggle eye-witness, I was told, was not likely to convince many)._

Tom folded the paper in half, thinking. Grindelwald was fascinating. His search for immortality certainly interested Tom the most. He hadn't been aware such things existed, even in the magical world. Had Grindelwald been successful? Had he achieved immortality? Certainly, Grindelwald had carved himself out a large piece of history, whether he was successful in overthrowing the Ministry of Magic or not. Was that true immortality, though? To be remembered is one thing, but to live forever, to stave off death for eternity, to have beaten it… Yes, that was true immortality. Had Grindelwald achieved that?

Tom smirked to himself. That Grindelwald was a great wizard, Tom had no doubt. A powerful wizard, determined to be the greatest the world had ever seen.

And Tom was determined to beat him.

 _Notes from the Author: Firstly, I apologize that this Chapter took so long to get out. I got caught up in a couple things, and every time I sat down to write this, I just wasn't sure what to write. You know how it is. Anyway, it's done now, and there are a few things to point out - firstly, I have been having difficulty writing about Tom's early years at Hogwarts and making them interesting. I mean, there are only so many classes I can write before it all gets rather... boring. Events like those in the early years of Harry Potter aren't exactly possible, since anything as eventful as, you know, Harry's adventures in the Philosopher's Stone or the Chamber of Secrets, you know, I feel like Dumbledore would've mentioned something? As a result, a few weeks, perhaps even months, may go by between Chapters, but I will always make sure to say so, if that is the case. Currently, we're in the beginning of October, I'd say, 1938. Also, did you guys pick up on Draco Malfoy's grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy? No birthday given, so I can't be certain he was at Hogwarts at this time, but I like to keep things interesting. Once again, Grindelwald has made an appearance in the Chapter (by name, if not in person) and his influence is growing. Over the course of the novel, he will get more so, but the goal right now is to slowly introduce the idea to Tom of a Dark Wizard who strikes fear into the hearts of Britain, chasing after immortality (though he won't know that he is after the Deathly Hallows, as Dumbledore himself says it is unlikely he'd ever heard of them), boasting of the purity of blood and subjugating Muggles. Basically, Voldemort in Beta mode. As always, I would love to hear your guys' thoughts. Leave a review, and I'll get back to you!_


	8. Tom Triumphant

– CHAPTER EIGHT –

 _Tom Triumphant_

Tom continued to excel in his studies, impressing and charming his teachers all the while, as the grounds outside Hogwarts changed from clear skies and green, rolling hills to white-capped mountains and endless acres of white snow. The Black Lake had long frozen over and some students had taken to skating across its surfaces on their off days, while some of the older students got to leave the castle grounds entirely and head for the wizard village of Hogsmeade, which was nearby. Snow clung to the tops of the tress in the Dark Forest and Tom and the rest of the Slytherins had to trudge through three feet of snow on their way down to the greenhouses for Herbology.

'Can barely walk through it all,' complained Alphard one morning as he trudged through the snow, scowling. His dark hair was matted with wet snow from when Druella had thrown a snowball at him. Alphard had grinned and thrown one right back, but Tom hadn't joined in, nor had they dared throw a snowball at him.

'I like the snow,' said Druella, reaching down to pick up a wad of it and throw it in the air, which fell lightly back to the ground, giving the fleeting impression that it was snowing again.

'It's so deep,' said Alphard. 'We all half disappear.'

That much was true, thought Tom. Even as tall as he was, the snows out along the paths that led out to one of the greenhouses came up close to his waist. When they got closer, however, the snow seemed to have melted five feet from the greenhouse in every direction, where gardens were planted with various plants, some of who made desperate grabs for Tom's ankles as he passed.

Professor Beery seemed extra cheerful this morning as the Slytherins and Gryffindors, who they shared Herbology and Potions with, entered.

'Good morning, class,' said the Professor Beery, beaming around at them all. 'Just received word from Headmaster Dippet!' He was practically bouncing up and down with glee. 'Oh, just you wait and see, it's going to be splendid.'

'What is, Professor?' asked one of the Gryffindors who Tom recognized as Fleamont Potter from the Sorting Ceremony.

'I've just received special permission to start up a new Hogwarts tradition!' replied the Professor, wringing his hands together as though he couldn't wait to get started. 'I'll be directing a school play, a musical. Hogwarts hasn't hosted one in… well, ever as far as I can tell, but I'll be sure to put on a fabulously dramatic performance such that Hogwarts shall host one every year!' He closed his eyes and fanned his arms out dramatically, apparently too lost in the moment to notice a few of the students sniggering. 'Auditions will be held as soon as I've completed the script,' he said, coming back to the real world. 'I thought perhaps an adaptation of _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ …' Tom had no idea what that was, nor was he at all interested in the idea of a school play. It was a sentiment that appeared to be shared by the majority of the class, all of whom looked a bit uncomfortable, some even confused. Professor Beery seemed to notice because he immediately cleared his throat and said, 'Yes, well… On with the lesson.'

He was in a noticeably less cheerful mood after the poor reception he'd gotten about his idea for a play. 'So far, we've done some excellent work with Devil's Snare,' he grumbled. 'Now, just to review, can anyone tell me a little more about Devil's Snare –? Ah, yes, Tom.'

'Devil's Snare is a magical, vine-like plant that behaves almost as a living thing,' said Tom, echoing their first lesson where Professor Beery had said that Devil's Snare's reactionary behavior (strangling those who touch it, and strangling those who struggle all the more quickly) were indicators of this fact. 'It lashes out with its vines in an attempt to strangle those who touch it, whether they know what it is or not.'

'Excellent,' replied Professor Beery, perhaps slightly more cheerful again owing to the fact that _someone_ had managed to retain the information they'd spent weeks learning about, for the rest of the class were all looking around blankly or whispering to each other to confirm what Devil's Snare was. 'Ten points to Slytherin if you can tell me how to combat it.'

'With fire,' said Tom immediately. 'Devil's Snare grows best in dark, damp environments because it hates warmth and light.' Alphard had learned that first hand when they'd tackled Devil's Snare for the first time. It had gotten a good grip on his upper arm and was moving across his torso before Tom had muttered the incantation Professor Beery had taught them, sending jets of blue flame that did no harm to Alphard, but forced the Devil's Snare back into its pot. 'Sunlight will also work, though fire is the surer way.'

'Ten points to Slytherin, as promised. Now, today we're going to be tackling something new. Come along.' There was a murmur of interest amongst the students as everyone wondered what this could be. Professor Beery led them out of the greenhouse, and along the path that went down the hill, towards the greenhouses typically used by older students, housing more dangerous plants. They entered greenhouse three, and arranged themselves around a long, high table upon which a dozen large potted plants that seemed completely unremarkable.

A small twig seemed to jut out of the soft earth, with small, rounded leaves. Everyone crowded around the table excitedly, staring wonderingly at the plants before them, though Tom noticed that no one dared touch them, just in case they might start strangling them.

'Normally, these are left for the second and third-years to tend to, but this year I find myself with more of the younglings than normal,' said Professor Beery, beginning to hand out what looked like small, hairy creatures. They turned out to be very thick and furry earmuffs. 'When they reach puberty and thus mature, they tend to climb out of their pots and start wandering into each other's, and if you don't watch them closely enough, well –' Professor Beery gestured to the various potted plants in front of them all with a shrug. Most of the class looked confused. 'Well, it makes for a more exciting class for you all, eh?'

Tom looked down at his rather unremarkable plant with curiosity.

'So!' said Professor Beery, clapping his hands together in excitement. 'We've not covered these yet, and as I say, they're usually left for second and third-years, but does anyone know –?'

Everyone in the class looked unsure, glancing at one another. Tom, however, was looking at the set of earmuffs that Alphard had passed him. He had been reading ahead, and once he took hold of the earmuffs, he remembered something from one of the books he'd taken out of the library.

'Mandrakes,' called Tom, looking down at the plant.

'Oh!' exclaimed Professor Beery in surprise, though evidently pleased. 'Been reading ahead have you, Tom?'

'Yes, sir,' said Tom, unabashed.

'Well, go on then.'

'Mandrakes are a living plant as well, the mature ones being able to move about of their own free will,' said Tom, recalling the library book in which he'd read about them. He had a very good memory.

'Yes, and why the earmuffs?'

'A Mandrake's cry is fatal, sir,' Tom replied.

Professor Beery nodded. 'Very good. Now, these ones are just the younglings, so no one ought to be toppling over dead just yet, but even the young ones can be dangerous. Their cries can force a person into unconsciousness for several hours, hence the earmuffs. Not to mention they have a nasty bite. These ones have just begun teething, so make sure you wear your protective gloves.'

At this, everyone slipped on their gloves and earmuffs, waiting for Professor Beery to show them what to do. He slipped his own earmuffs and gloves on, and then stepped closer to the pot in front of him.

'Now,' said Professor Beery, his voice very muffled through the earmuffs. 'Take hold of the Mandrake at its head, here.' He grabbed the root of the plant, as close to the soft earth as he could get. 'Give it a firm tug, and –'

Even through the earmuffs, Tom could hear the horrible screeching sound that the creature emitted as Professor Beery pulled it out of the earth, and though Tom's head swam and he felt a bit lightheaded, he stayed conscious. The Mandrake itself looked like a dirty green baby. It had small arms and legs that looked very much like roots, large, bulging eyes screwed up while it screamed horribly, and a fat little belly. It's skin was a mixture of browns and greens and looked hard, almost like the bark of a tree. Altogether it couldn't have been any larger than an actual baby, but they were far more ugly.

Professor Beery kept a firm hold of the Mandrake all the while, then put it in an empty pot that was a bit larger and began dumping earth on it until (finally) it's face and mouth were covered, and the screaming died. Professor Beery took off his earmuffs and indicated that they ought to do the same.

'We'll be repotting Mandrakes today, just as I've demonstrated. They're growing quickly, and need larger pots. These ones ought to last them until puberty.' Professor Beery patted the large pot now housing his Mandrake affectionately. 'So, grab a larger pot and some fresh earth from over here,' he indicated the corner where he'd procured his, 'keep your gloves on, make sure your earmuffs are on tight, and away we go.'

It took most of the lesson to wrestle their Mandrake into the pot because it struggled quite heroically and managed to bite Alphard's nose. He, Alphard and Druella had only just succeeded in burying theirs in dirt when the bell rang to dismiss them. They trudged their way through the snow and back up to the castle with very dirty hands and a few more cuts than they'd had previously from the Devil's Snare.

'Excited about the Quidditch match?' Alphard asked Tom as they walked back up to the castle. Alphard was grinning at him, obviously thinking that this topic of conversation would impress Tom.

'Not really,' replied Tom casually. He had never played any sports at the orphanage, as most required friends to play with, which Tom had never had. That was all for the better, though. He detested the way that Jackson Davies had tried to lord over them all as they grew older, simply because he was the biggest and the oldest, and the best at football. In Tom's mind, success on a sports field, even a magical sports field like the Quidditch Pitch, was not something impressive, but rather an indicator of ineptitude in the things that really mattered – strength, magical prowess, power. And while Quidditch certainly sounded more dangerous and challenging than any Muggle sport Tom had heard of, he didn't think it made much of a difference.

'The match is today, isn't it?' Druella asked Alphard.

He nodded.

'Shame we can't go, it's during our Potions lesson.'

'First-years can't play on the team, so they don't always make the games on times we have off,' said Alphard informatively. 'It's Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. Apparently the Hufflepuff Beaters are really good, but their Seeker isn't. Their best one left Hogwarts last year, and they haven't found a decent replacement. They're playing Dawson, a fourth year.' Alphard was rattling off all of this information very quickly, clearly interested. 'Roy's pretty confident that –'

'Roy?' demanded Tom, stopping in his tracks.

'Yeah,' said Alphard, looking a little worried at the look on Tom's face. 'He's the Slytherin Quidditch Captain… He says that our Seeker is really good, so it should be an easy win –'

'You've been talking to him?'

Alphard looked really uncomfortable now, and Tom saw Druella, who was standing just behind Alphard, looking worried as well. 'No!' said Alphard quickly. 'I just… Heard him, is all - in the common room the other night. He says that the Seeker usually decides the game, and since Hufflepuff's isn't very good…' Alphard trailed off, shrugging.

'Who is the Slytherin Seeker?' asked Druella. Tom had a feeling he knew the answer, and was not surprised by Alphard's response.

'Oh. Er – Roy is.'

'Well, that's modest of him,' said Druella with a grin. 'Our Seeker's really good, is he?'

'Apparently.'

Tom remained silent as they bantered all the way up to the castle, discussing Quidditch. Tom had learned the details of sport solely because he hated the idea of someone knowing something about the magical world that he didn't. The Quidditch Pitch, where the game was played, was a large field several times the size of a football field, where three tall hoops rested on either end. They served as the goalposts, and stood about a hundred feet tall because the whole game was played atop a broomstick hundreds of feet in the air. There were seven players on each team. Three Chasers, whose job it was to score goals by throwing the Quaffle (a large, red ball) through the hoops. Each goal was counted as ten points and the game progressed very quickly. The hoops were guarded by the fourth member of a Quidditch team, the Keeper, who served as a kind of goalie, protecting the hoops and blocking the Chasers. Then there were two Beaters, who flew around protecting their team from the other set of balls in a Quidditch match – Bludgers – which flew about of their own free will and tried to knock players off their brooms. Beaters carried heavy bats to literally beat the Bludgers into the opposing team.

Finally, there was the Seeker, the seventh member of a Quidditch team, and arguably the most important. The Seeker's job was to fly around the Quidditch pitch and locate the Golden Snitch, a tiny, golden ball with wings that fluttered about the pitch very quickly and was difficult to see. The Seeker who caught the Snitch ended the game, and earned their team one-hundred and fifty points, which was often the deciding amount for a game.

'I thought they were funny,' Alphard said as they reached the Entrance Hall. Tom hadn't been listening closely, but he came to understand that they were now talking about their Herbology lesson and the Mandrakes that Professor Beery had shown them.

'Yes, they're hilarious,' said Druella sarcastically. One of them had punched her in the mouth and she was now sporting one very fat bottom lip. 'I half wish they'd screamed loud enough to knock old Beery out for a couple of hours. Did you know I heard he's a Mudblood?'

"Mudblood" meant "dirty blood", and was a foul way to describe someone who was Muggle-born. It had been one of the first things Tom had learned about the wizarding world since coming to Hogwarts. The older Slytherins, Roy's gang in particular, liked to throw it around in the hallways, calling out to Mudblood Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Some of the more daring students even yelled things like, 'Grindelwald's coming for you, mudblood!' or 'Read the papers today, mudblood? Grindelwald's coming to do away with scum like you.' Clearly, being a mudblood was a horrible and disgusting thing, and Tom was very glad that he wasn't one.

The three of them made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, but Tom, who was not hungry and who wanted to take advantage of the spare time they had between classes, murmured a quiet word and dashed off towards the Trophy Room.

Tom was determined to find mention of his father Tom Riddle Sr. there. Surely a wizard who had sired someone as magically powerful as Tom had been distinguished himself? No doubt he had been some famous wizard, or at the least brilliant enough to have earned some awards whilst at school here?

Tom walked through the halls very purposefully, weaving between students on their way to the Great Hall for lunchbreak. He wanted to get to the Trophy Room quickly though, and the throng of people mulling about the corridors was slowing him down and he was growing frustrated. He dived behind a statue of a young maiden and whispered, 'Few are fairer to look upon than you, my lady,' and the statue reached out a rough stone hand to cup his face and smiled down at him. After a moment, she shifted forward enough for Tom to squeeze through the passage behind her that was a shortcut to the library, very close to the Trophy Room. He'd learned about this one through one of the books in the library, where someone had scribbled down the words required to gain passage in a small margin of the page.

He knew about others passages, though. Other secrets. Tom had spent much of his free time exploring the castle and as a result, he'd discovered many secret places that he knew no one else had seen. There was a passage behind an old statue of some witch that allowed you to easily cut the journey from one end of the castle to the other in half. Some hallways were merely hidden by tapestries that hung over the entrances, while others were hidden with magic. Tom had spent the better part of an afternoon trying to figure out a riddle that a statue of a goblin on the fourth floor had given him, promising to reveal what was behind it if he got it right.

It had taken a while, but Tom had gotten it right and the little stone goblin hopped to the side, revealing a small passageway which Tom had to crouch down to get through. On the other side had been a large, stone room with several dozen old tapestries piled in a corner. There were all manner of suits of armour, statues, books and other kinds of trinkets. It looked like a kind of storeroom. Tom had spent a few hours exploring the room, inspecting the different objects, but he hadn't found anything interesting or worth taking.

As it was now, Tom crept out of the other end of the secret passage behind the maiden, and out into the corridor. He only had to walk another minute or so before he got to the Trophy Room. Tom had been here before to look for his father's name, but it was a large room and he hadn't searched nearly half of the trophies in the room.

He'd only been at it a few minutes when he was interrupted.

'Ooooh, back again, is he?'

It was Peeves, the Poltergeist of Hogwarts. So far he had proved to be more annoying than he was frightening. His favourite pastimes involved scaring first-years (though Tom merely thought him irksome) and composing vile songs which he sung as he zoomed through the halls. He had a particular rivalry with the Caretaker, Pringle, who was often made to clean up Peeves' messes.

'Go away, Peeves,' said Tom, staring intently into a case of old Quidditch awards. He'd hoped his father was more like him – intelligent, ambitious and powerful – not merely good at sports, but at it was now, Tom was prepared to accept any mention of his father.

'Oh, "go away", he says,' cackled Peeves, floating above Tom's head and sticking his tongue out.

Tom drew his wand and turned to point it up at Peeves. 'Go away!' And he waved his wand forcefully, sweeping it over his chest, and Peeves, screaming all the while, was blasted backwards and out through the ceiling. Tom could hear him cursing and breaking things on the floor above him, but Peeves didn't return. Tom peered into the case of old Quidditch awards, but there were no "Riddles" there. Nor could any Riddle be found in the cases for Transfiguration, Charms or Potions awards. He still had more to check, though, but even Tom had to admit to himself that he was growing concerned. Surely he'd have found something by now? Disgruntled, Tom made his way down to the dungeons for his last lesson of the day – Potions.

'Tom, m'boy!' boomed Professor Slughorn as Tom entered the room, which was empty except for the two of them. 'Eager, are you?'

Tom glanced down at his battered, secondhand watch. He was early. He supposed all of the shortcuts and passages he'd taken to get there had really paid off. He was a whole ten minutes early for the lesson, and no one else had shown up yet.

'Yes, sir.'

'The other teachers tell me you're doing quite well in your other classes,' said Slughorn, sidling around his desk so as not to hit it with his midsection. 'Very taken with you, they are. I'm glad to hear you're distinguishing yourself! I knew I was right about you – never been wrong about a student yet.'

'I do my best,' said Tom, feigning modesty. Truthfully he knew all of this already – it was obvious to everyone that he was the best student in the class. No one had yet managed to move their feather in Charms class except for him, and even in the duller subjects like History of Magic he excelled where no else did.

'Well, your best may yet prove to be the best Hogwarts has ever seen!' exclaimed Slughorn. 'Truly, m'boy, I have never seen such a skilled Potion-maker. Never at such a young age, and your other teachers are equally impressed. No, no, you'll go far Tom. I am certain of it.'

'Thank you sir. I really appreciate your confidence. I wasn't sure how I'd be, given that I was brought up as a Muggle, in a Muggle orphanage, see…'

The broad smile on Slughorn's face drooped ever so slightly. 'Nonsense! Very clear that ability of your caliber only comes from distinguished and powerful wizarding lines. That sort of ability isn't learned, m'boy, it's inherited!'

'Do you truly think so, sir?' asked Tom, who was eager to discuss the idea of how magical power was transferred. If it was indeed as Slughorn said, it would solidify Tom's theory about his father being extraordinarily powerful. 'Is blood and heritage important? In a wizard, I mean?'

'Well, it is true that certain lines have produced more distinguished wizards and witches than others over the centuries,' admitted Slughorn, bobbing his head from side to side. 'But many have argued that the pure-blooded witches and wizards had a more – er – favourable view on the extent of their abilities and achievements…'

'History is written by the victors,' echoed Tom, recalling something he had overheard Mrs Cole telling one of the maids in regards to the Great War.

'Precisely,' said Slughorn with a nod. 'But it is important to note that great magical power isn't limited to pure-blooded wizards alone. There are many famous half-bloods and Muggle-borns who are counted amongst the good and the great, too.'

'But surely keeping magic within the magical community is for the best, in order to preserve our power? Wouldn't mixing magical blood with Muggles dilute that power?'

Slughorn shook his head. 'There is no evidence to suggest so.'

'But keeping a wizarding bloodline pure, marrying Muggles –'

'Has kept wizards alive,' interrupted Slughorn, not unkindly. 'Our lines would likely have died out, and there are working theories surrounding inter-marriage between closely related families – as most pure-blood families are – that says such marriages can cause ill effects in children, with Muggles and wizards alike.'

Tom was about to protest when the door opened behind him and the majority of the rest of the class filed in. Tom was forced to take his usual seat at the front of the class, a little disquieted. Slughorn believed that marrying Muggles was natural, but from Tom's observation, a pure-blooded wizard fit better into a wizarding society. Muggle-borns would always be second-class in the wizarding world – how could they not be? Born a witch or wizard, but without the parentage, where did the magic come from? To Tom's mind, there was nothing wrong with pure-blooded wizards and witches like Alphard or Druella, and certainly no evidence of these "ill effects" that Slughorn referred to. In fact, it seemed to Tom that proper wizards ought to be pure-blood, how else to preserve their magic? Surely by marrying Muggles the witch or wizard ensured that their children would receive half the magic, be half as powerful, with only one magical parent?

Potions class passed quickly, and Tom scarcely paid attention. He had read all about this particular potion, a cure for hair loss, and wasn't inclined to listen to Slughorn prattle on about the various ingredients required, which Tom knew off-hand. Instead, he spent the majority of the lesson thinking over the dilemma Slughorn had presented him with. Slytherin house had long valued blood purity, with the view that it was very important in a witch or wizard, though this did not appear to be an idea shared by the other houses, for Tom had never heard a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff boasting about their pure-blood status, though he knew they existed.

Fleamont Potter was a pure-blood, and he knew of one of the Macmillan's in Hufflepuff were as well, but they didn't perform in classes any better than anyone else, and certainly no better than Tom. Troubled, Tom left his Potions class alone and headed for the Slytherin common room, still thinking everything over.

'Grindelwald,' murmured Tom to the wall that he had come to recognize now. It opened at his command and Tom stepped inside. It seemed that almost the whole of Slytherin house was in the common room in some kind of celebratory mood. A giant green and silver banner with the words _Slytherin Wins_ across it was draped along some of the green-lit lamps hanging from the ceiling. There was heaping plates of food on a long table near the fire, and everyone seemed to have a glass of pumpkin juice or a mug of butterbeer to wash it all down with.

It seemed Slytherin had indeed won their Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, and as had been predicted, they apparently had Roy to thank.

'Flint had just scored another goal, so we were eighty points to zero,' Roy was saying now from a corner by the fire. His adoring fans were all around him, listening to every word. The rest of the Quidditch team (all of which were in his gang), were arranged behind him, laughing. 'And I saw that Hufflepuff mudblood nose-dive across the pitch, so I followed him. He's still riding a Cleansweep One, and that's over ten years old, so I caught up to him quick enough.' At this, Roy jumped out of his seat to act it out, bending forwards slightly as though he were on a broom. 'And that was when I saw it – the snitch,' he added unnecessarily. 'But Dawson was going to get there first, and if he caught it then, we'd have lost.'

'So how did you catch it?' asked one of the older girls.

'Well,' said Roy, a sly grin appearing on his face. 'I slipped my wand out of my pocket and confunded him. He fumbled it and I zoomed past to snag it right from under him!'

The whole common room roared with laughter.

'And then his whole team rounds on him asking what happened, and he says he just lost sight of it at the last second! Didn't even know I'd done anything!'

Everyone was laughing, some even slopping butterbeer on themselves in their jubilation, but Tom, who was standing at the foot of the stairs to the boy's dormitories, glared at Roy. He represented exactly the kind of leader that Tom hated – not powerful magically, just good at Quidditch, as if that would matter after leaving Hogwarts. His gang were arrayed around him like a bunch of sycophants, never realizing that someone far more powerful and deserving of their servitude was among them.

Roy was still laughing about confounding the Hufflepuff Chaser when his eyes drifted over the crowd and found Tom. His eyes narrowed and he made to get up, but Tom made no move to go anywhere. Instead, he stood at the base of the stairs to the boy's dormitory, waiting as calm as anything, trying to keep his expression blank. Once everyone realized what was happening, the laughter and chatter died and everyone stared at Tom and Roy, waiting for something to happen.

'You!' spat Roy, stepping around the armchairs and stopping six feet from Tom. The rest of the Quidditch team arranged themselves behind him, looking menacing. 'It seems I owe you for that stunt you pulled day one.'

He made to move forward, but Tom pulled his wand out and pointed it straight at Roy's chest, and his gang laughed. Tom hated that laughter, and he felt his blood boiling. In the corner opposite the fire, Tom spied Avery, who for once was not laughing or smiling, but watching the altercation intently.

Roy was grinning broadly. 'Do you even know how to use that thing?' he asked, apparently forgetting about the time Tom had used _that thing_ to make a lamp fly across the common room and hit him in the forehead. 'All right, well, if it's a duel you want…'

He drew his own wand and let it fall to his side with a casual air, apparently not taking Tom very seriously. That was going to be his mistake.

Tom wasn't familiar with how duels worked in the wizarding world, but he wasn't unduly worried. He'd read enough and practiced enough, and he'd seen the best Roy could do and he hadn't been impressed.

'You can have the first spell, go on,' said Roy, waving his hand other hand. 'If you can even cast a spell.'

It sounded as though the whole of the Slytherin common room was laughing at him, and it was this laughter that sent Tom over the edge. He waved his wand with nothing but anger and hatred in his thoughts – hatred for Roy, hatred for those who would dare to laugh at him, anger for being doubted, his abilities being questioned. He hated Roy more than he hated Mrs Cole, and though Tom didn't speak the incantation as he waved his wand forcefully, Roy was knocked backwards into the rest of his Quidditch team, bowling three of them over.

The laughter died instantly, and Tom felt the mood of the room shift palpably – he had knocked Roy over, he had done more than any of them ever had. But he had not yet proved himself, nor had he secured the loyalty of the sycophants that had long surrounded Roy. They would follow the strong, and the strong alone. When Tom defeated Roy, they would flock to him, he was sure of it.

Meanwhile, Roy was being pulled roughly to his feet by one of his teammates. He stood across from Tom for a moment, grinding his teeth, and then he pointed his wand at Tom.

' _Petrificus Totalus!_ ' he cried, waving his wand wildly in Tom's direction.

' _Protego!_ ' bellowed Tom immediately, blocking the spell. This time, murmurs broke out around the two combatants, and Tom knew why. _Protego_ was the Shield Charm, which blocked unfriendly spells if cast quickly enough, but it was more advanced magic than a usual first-year ought to be able to perform. Tom had read about it in a library book and had been practicing in unused classrooms by enchanting various objects to zoom at him, and then casting the Shield Charm to protect himself.

Roy looked a little nervous now as he steadied himself, since the force of Tom's Shield Charm had caused him to stumble backwards into his teammates again. One of them pushed him forwards, calling out, 'Come on, Roy! Show him!'

'He's just a kid,' said another.

Tom waited for Roy to make the next move, ready with another Shield Charm.

Roy raised his wand and yelled, ' _Serpentsortia!_ ' and from out of the end of his wand shot a long, dark snake, which coiled itself in the space between the two of them and hissed at Tom. It reared forwards, bringing its head high and hissing again, but Tom instantly lowered his wand. Across from him, Roy was grinning, clearly pleased with the spell.

Tom knelt down to the snake's head level and extended his hand, ' _Come,_ ' he murmured, the familiar hissing sound of Parseltongue escaping his lips, though he spoke so quietly that no one but the snake could hear him. It slithered across the floor, never letting its yellow eyes leave Tom's dark ones, as Tom extended his hand to it, palm up. He distinctly heard a few people gasp as the snake slithered up into his hand and along his arm.

'W-What is this?' Tom heard Roy gasp, a trace of fear in his voice. Tom wasn't paying attention; he was looking down at the snake intently, who was draped around his shoulders.

' _I am your master now_ ,' said Tom in Parseltongue. ' _You will obey me_.'

' _Yesssss_ ,' hissed the snake in reply.

Tom nodded once, then extended his arm straight outwards, towards Roy. The snake slithered down its length, its head resting flat against the very tips of his fingers. There was a tense moment where everyone in the common room stared at the snake, poised to strike at the tips of Tom's fingers. But Tom knew that the snake would not make a move without his word.

' _Strike_ ,' he commanded, and the snake leapt off his arm, aided by the small magical push that Tom gave it, and it flew straight at Roy's face, who screamed and covered his face with his hands. No sooner had the snake reached its destination when it disappeared into a puff of grey smoke, much like the snake Tom had conjured back in Ollivander's wand shop. Tom had only wanted to scare Roy and to prove himself to the whole of Slytherin house. He had done that, and any wounds Roy took away from this duel would cause unwanted questions, and that was something best avoided…

Tom stood across from Roy, who was now on his knees, and stared down at the cowering boy. His teammates had taken two tentative steps backwards, abandoning him to Tom's mercy. 'Those who pretend to power will always be cast aside when the truly powerful arrive,' said Tom, glaring down at the older boy, who refused to meet his eyes.

'Y-You're a Parselmouth,' stammered Roy from the floor. One of his teammates stepped forward and helped him up but quickly stepped away from him again as though he were contagious.

'Yes, I am. Like the founder of this house, I am a Parseltongue,' said Tom loud enough for all to hear. The connection he and Salazar Slytherin shared was important to Tom and it validated everything that he was about to do. He was destined for greatness, even Ollivander had said so, and his reign would begin right here. Within the corridors of this school, Tom would collect the brightest and strongest around him and forge them into his new family. 'It is a rare gift that I will use to bring the noble house of Salazar Slytherin back to its rightful place amongst the greatest and strongest of our kind. Anyone who wishes to share in this dream is welcome amongst us. Those who do not, or who aren't capable,' Tom's gaze flickered briefly to Roy, 'will merely stand aside.'

And just past the cheering crowd, Tom could see Alphard in archway that led to the entrance to the common room, looking both dumbfounded and terrified.

 _Notes from the Author: Hi guys! Really sorry about the delay between Chapters here. My wife and I are in the process of purchasing a house and I started a new job, so I had a lot going on and somehow never found a lot of time to write. And then of course when I did find time to write, I was having difficulty. I think from here on out, I am going to start jumping forwards a bit more, since Tom's early years would be fairly unremarkable. We'll see what happens. As always, let me know what you think!_


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